


What Lies Beneath the Mask

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Masks, Minor Character Death, Public Humiliation, Romance, Slow Burn, Violence, Whipping, gypsies, hunchback of notre dame inspired, man in the iron mask inspired, the whipping boy inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-17 15:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 46,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12368922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: Killian has never seen his face. At least, not that he has memory of. Rescued by his adoptive father, Lord Rumple Gold, when he was a mere four years old, Killian has always been told that his heartless mother abandoned him on the steps of Misthaven Cathedral because of his monstrous deformity. A deformity that must be hidden away behind a mask. He is forced to suffer a life of abuse as Lord Gold’s son’s whipping boy until he comes of age at 18. Misthaven Bishop, Nemo, offers him a place as groundskeeper at the cathedral where for the past six years, Killian has longed for a life among the people of Misthaven. In a moment of bravery he chances being a part of the crowds during the annual Feast of Fools celebration and meets a woman who is able to see past his mask to the man underneath. With her help, perhaps Killian can begin to discover what lies beneath the mask.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is an interpretation of The Hunchback of Notre Dame in a Captain Swan AU with elements of The Man in the Iron Mask and The Whipping Boy added in. References will be sourced from the Disney Hunchback movie and not the Victor Hugo book (which I have read all of once and it was a LONG time ago). While I will be utilizing some scenes and dialogue (and lyrics) from the feature film, I won’t be following the format exactly. I have set the story in a non-magical Misthaven in order to to establish a world with its own set of laws, hierarchy, and social mores. 
> 
> Killian is not deformed under that mask (as you learn early on, but wanted to assuage your concern in case it was a sticking point for you to even begin reading this tale). The mask is just another form of cruelty and abuse at Gold’s hand. Speaking of cruelty, please check out the warnings for this, as it does contain some darker elements and themes.
> 
> Added A/N It was brought to my attention after posting the Prologue for this fic that the term gypsy could be considered a slur that may be offensive to some ethnic groups. I’d like to take this opportunity to say that no such offense is intended. I am sourcing the term from the inspiration piece (Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame) as it is used in various pieces of dialogue and lyrics in which I am referencing. Given that this story takes place in an alternate universe, I am not using the term to reference the Romani people, but to describe a nomadic group of travelers that exist within a tight knit community.

**Prologue**

The hushed blackness of night weighed down on the float that transported the frightened gypsies as they attempted to slip unnoticed into the province of Misthaven. Their caravan had been raided by Lord Gold’s men after the death of his wife had been laid at the feet of their matriarch, Mother Ruth, who had been unable to heal the ailing woman. 

Gold had issued an edict calling for the death of their entire gypsy clan - men, women, and children. Ambushed just after dawn, the once peaceful clearing that the caravan had inhabited ran with blood while the air had become choked with the smoke of burnt out wagon homes in less time than it took for the gypsies to take up arms. Those lucky enough to escape the slaughter made haste for the woods in an effort to wait out the carnage.

The primary target of the massacre, Mother Ruth managed to flee the campsite with several others, but, unfortunately, she was not unscathed. An arrow had managed to fly true from one of the archers’ bows, embedding itself in the elderly woman’s chest.

Despite its removal, and the care she received from her apprentice (the wife of a visiting gypsy family, Amelia Jones), Ruth succumbed to her injury, but not before urging her son and the Jones’ to seek out refuge from Lord Gold’s wrath. Now Ruth’s son, David, along with his expectant wife and the Jones family were making their way to the only sanctuary available to them - Misthaven Cathedral.

The oarsman had offered them safe passage into the province at a steep price, and the two couples, along with the two young Jones sons, held silent as they made their way along the canal that led to the Misthaven docks.

Stopping short of their destination, however, the float came to rest at a small pier as the oarsman turned and demanded they pay him three times the originally agreed upon amount.

“But... but, sir,” David pleaded. “We cannot pay that sum. We can barely pay your original price.”

“If you cannot pay for your safety,” the oarsman sneered, “then you will pay for your crimes. Guards!”

The gypsies watched in horror as an ambush of armored men, led by Lord Gold himself, emerged from the shadows.

Desperate to save his friends and family, David knocked the treacherous oarsman into the frigid waters of the canal and cast off the float, steering it to a landing on the other side. Gold and his soldiers hurried toward the bridge connecting the two sides of the channel as David and Brennan Jones instructed the women to take the children and flee.

While the men fended off the soldiers, David’s wife, Snow, took the hand of seven-year-old Liam as Amelia scooped four-year-old Killian into her arms. Pursued relentlessly by Lord Gold on horseback, the women dashed through the narrow, convoluted streets, but eventually became separated from one another.

With the towers of the cathedral in sight, Amelia Jones held tight to her young son and continued to run as fast as her feet would carry her, even as she could feel the hot breath of Gold’s horse upon her back. Providence provided her a blockade from the pursuit as she scaled a low railing leading to a narrow alley through which the war horse could not follow.

Bursting from the end of the alley, Amelia found herself within the cathedral courtyard. She launched herself at the large wooden doors of the cathedral, but found them barred due to the lateness of the hour.

“Sanctuary!” she cried out as she banged her fist upon the entry. “Please! Give us sanctuary!”

The thundering of hooves caught her panicked attention as she turned to see Lord Gold advancing. Placing her young son on the ground behind her, Amelia braced herself to protect him as the horse reared back and caught her temple with its hooves - killing her instantly.

The woman crumpled to the ground as Lord Gold dismounted his steed; a satisfied sneer twisted his lips.

Paralyzed by the shock of seeing his mother felled before him, the boy, no more than a babe, stood helpless as Lord Gold drew his sword from its scabbard.

“Not to worry, dearie,” Gold snarled. “You’ll be reunited with your filthy gypsy mother soon enough.” He raised the blade high in the air as snow began to swirl around them.

The blow was stayed by the creaking sounds of the heavy oak doors to the cathedral finally being opened. Gold lowered his sword and resheathed it before the exiting monks could take notice of his evil intent.

“What has happened here?” the Bishop questioned as he knelt down next to the fallen woman.

Confirming that the poor soul had indeed passed on he turned his attentions to Lord Gold.

“What have you done?”

Gold raised his chin and puffed out his chest as he condescendingly answered, “I am guiltless. She ran, I pursued.”

The Bishop assessed Lord Gold with a critical eye. “And the boy?”

Both men turned their attentions to the child who had silent tears streaming down his little cheeks, his brilliant blue eyes never left the face of his mother who was now cradled in the Bishop’s arms.

“An orphan now, poor soul,” Gold replied, unable to mask his insincerity at the pitiful child’s plight.

“Then you shall take him,” the Bishop decreed, “and raise him as your own.”

“What?!” Gold exclaimed. “I am to be saddled with this wretched excuse for a-”

“You are to make right the wrong you have committed,” the Bishop answered firmly. “Or shall we see what the king has to say about the blood spilt at the cathedral doors?”

Both men knew that the king was a deeply religious man, holding the cathedral and sacred ground around it in reverent esteem. Such an act of violence, no matter how justified, would be seen as blasphemy on hallowed ground, and Gold’s blood ran cold at the consequence that could follow.

“Fine,” Gold relented. “Draw up the necessary documents and have the boy brought to me in the morning.” Without a backward glance at the child, Gold mounted his horse and set off into the night.

“Come my child,” the Bishop instructed as he reached out for the boy’s hand. “Let us go say a prayer for your departed mother.”  _ And another for you,  _ the Bishop thought with heavy sadness.

Scrubbed clean and with a belly full of food the babe began to come out of himself over the sleepless hours of that long night. The Bishop and cathedral monks were all taken by his charm and spritely nature, and offered up prayers for the boy’s future.

While the monks had tended to Killian that night, they eventually learned the boy’s name; the Bishop had been adamant that after all Killian had lost he should at least be able to keep his given name. So w hen the adoption papers were crafted, he was christened Killian Gold. He would be delivered to Gold Manor the next morning, which resided in the countryside just outside Misthaven Province.

Though the papers made the gypsy child a legitimate heir of Lord Gold, the man had no intentions of treating him as such. Gold already had a son of his own, and he instructed his household that this son, Neal, would alone be shown the deference of such station, and commanded that  _ the gypsy child _ would serve as Neal’s whipping boy from hence forth.

But just as he had with the monks, little Killian enchanted all those around him with his puckish looks and charm. Tutors and servants lavished more attention on him than Gold’s son and the punishments he was suppose to bear in Neal’s sted were meted out with little conviction.

It wasn’t long after bringing Killian into his household that Gold devised a cruel solution to the favoritism the young gypsy was receiving. Pulled from his bed one night, the near babe was fitted with a hateful mask that hid away his fair features. The servants were all dismissed and replaced with new attendants who had no knowledge of the child’s origins and were simply told that he’d suffered a monstrous deformity since birth; a lie that was echoed again and again about the boy until it was accepted as fact by all - including the boy himself.

As the years went on, new masks were commissioned to accommodate the boy’s growth, but none, save Gold himself, was ever allowed to look upon the gypsy boy’s face. Punishments for Neal’s disobedience become harsher and more severe as the boys matured, and Lord Gold took delight in employing the most sadistic of tutors and instructors who delivered said punishments with cruel creativity on the young man who believed such treatment was a penance he deserved to bear for being born an abomination.

Though Killian benefitted from the same education and instruction in the various matters that befitted a high born station, he learned early on to walk the tightrope between not outshining his adoptive brother, and not insulting his tutors’ abilities to educate by feigning too much ignorance in the course of their subjects. For either affront could cost him time under a lash.

However, Neal was cut from equal cloth as his father, and he willfully caused no end of trouble and torment for his father’s household with the purpose of seeing _ the freak _ suffer on his behalf. An agenda that was not lost on Killian, and one that spurred him to give his  _ brother  _ little satisfaction during the administering of the punishments, withholding his cries of pain and rarely allowing the evidence of such suffering to compose itself within his eyes or along his mouth - the only features visible beneath his mask.

Such constant cruelty and abuse would most assuredly have extinguished Kilian’s spirit had it not been for the intervention of providence when the boy turned twelve. For in that year, Lord Gold was named Governor over Misthaven Province prompting a move of his household to the capital city with an expectation that he, and all those within his care, would attend weekly mass at Misthaven Cathedral. An expectation that was outlined to Gold when the current Archbishop, Nemo, had come to call that first week of their relocation.

Only a year into his new post, Nemo had not been among those who had cared for the young gypsy boy that fateful night all those years ago, nor did any of their number remain, leaving the connection between that charming and fair-faced child, and the masked boy now presented to the Archbishop lost to time and fate. Even still, Nemo had seen at once what so many others had overlooked when they ogled at the lad, not a monstrous aberration, but a bright and noble young man who still regarded others with deference and kindness despite his own ill treatment.

It was at Nemo’s insistence that Killian first garnered reprieve from the onslaught of punishment he incurred on a daily basis. Though the practice of keeping a whipping boy was sanctioned by the kingdom, Nemo had contended that a day of rest each week would be prudent and even advisable under royal decree (a decree that he himself had petitioned the king for on the boy’s behalf), and so it was, that each Sunday after mass, Killian was given the freedom of a day’s rest without fear of punishment or cruelty at the hands of his masters.

Skeptical that Gold’s household would honor the boy’s day of rest, Nemo invited the lad to spend Sunday’s at the cathedral after mass. For six years Nemo took full advantage of that single day in order to attempt to combat the poisonous words and harsh treatment that plagued Killian’s existence within the Gold household. The Bishop did all he could to bolster the young man, to encourage him and invest in him a truth that he held a worth far beyond that of a whipping boy - a mere conduit for other’s transgressions to be purged upon.

A truth that was difficult for Killian to fully embrace, though it did serve as a source of hope when circumstances threatened to overwhelm him completely. Circumstances that became more and more ruthless and inhumane until finally, at the age of eighteen, Killian came of age and Nemo was able to present a permanent liberation for him.

Neal’s future had been secured with admission into Misthaven’s University, and prospects of connections with other noble families that would only serve to propel his station, but Killian had no prospects outside of his adopted father’s home. Not with the stigma his mask presented. So Nemo beseeched Gold to secure Killian a place within the holy order at Misthaven Cathedral, a place that Killian did not feel worthy of holding, and therefore refused the offer before his father could accept. Eventually, an arrangement was settled upon for Killian’s future, one that did not include his continued torment under his father’s care.

Gold agreed to release Killian to Nemo’s authority and allow him to live and work at the Cathedral as groundskeeper in exchange for Nemo accepting a young postulant from Gold’s household (a young man by the name of Felix, the son of Gold’s manservant), into the Misthaven holy order. With a final stipulation that Felix alone would handle all matters of care that pertained to Killian’s face and mask, for in order to ensure that the metal did not permanently adhere to his flesh, the mask had to be removed for a time each week, which also allowed for washing and grooming to occur. A task that Killian himself, had never performed on his own, as the mask was secured to him with a locking mechanism that required a key. A key that Felix would be in possession of, along with the hateful secret that Killian had no need for the mask at all, but being so burdened by the belief that he was a monster Killian had never dared to question it.

Freed from the hell of Gold’s house, Killian began to heal under the care and affections of Nemo’s mentorship, but some wounds are too agonizing to even allow the application of such soothing balms, and are then left to fester. For even though Nemo and many of the cathedral monks were accepting of Killian, there were some within the order and many among the congregation and citizenry who were not as welcoming to him by nature of his mask and all that it represented: freak, monster, abomination.

So, Killian sequestered himself within the cathedral and its grounds for the next six years, even as he longed to be a part of the life he could only gain glimpses of from the height of the cathedral’s bell tower.

A life where he might be seen as more than just a monster within a mask; a life where someone, someday might see beyond static, metallic features displayed for the world’s judgment, and, instead, see the man that existed beneath it.

 


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a moment of bravery Killian chances being a part of the crowds during the annual Feast of Fools celebration and meets a woman who is able to see past his mask to the man underneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was brought to my attention after posting the Prologue for this fic that the term gypsy could be considered a slur that may be offensive to some ethnic groups. I’d like to take this opportunity to say that no such offense is intended. I am sourcing the term from the inspiration piece (Disney’s Hunchback of Notre Dame) as it is used in various pieces of dialogue and lyrics in which I am referencing. Given that this story takes place in an alternate universe, I am not using the term to reference the Romani people, but to describe a nomadic people (group of travelers) that exist within a tight knit community.
> 
> Much love to @ilovemecomekillianjones for being my outstanding beta and to @juliakaze for the stunning artwork she created for this fic!

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Emma could not contain her excitement. In fact, she’d been doing a rather poor job of keeping her joy contained ever since her parents had informed her and her brother that they would be traveling to Misthaven Province for the annual Feast of Fools.

Even though Emma had been born in Misthaven Province, neither she nor any of her family had set foot in its capital since shortly after her birth. She knew it held painful memories for her mother, father, and brother, and so she had tried to temper her enthusiasm, but as soon as they had entered the grand city and saw the towering cathedral, Emma had not been able to wipe the smile from her face.

Well, except for those moments when she’d had to endure the members of the Mills clan.

The Mills were a local gypsy troupe who had chosen to settle in the capital city rather than travel from festival to festival as her family did. Their matriarch, Cora, had reached out to Emma’s parents, as she had every year, and beseeched them to come to Misthaven for the Feast. Her parents had finally acquiesced when they had learned that the Mills clan, who arranged the entertainment for the festival, had recently lost their Showman and their most accomplished dancer. It seemed the two (the dancer being Cora’s eldest daughter from her first husband) had run off to get married against the matriarch’s wishes, effectively banishing themselves from the clan.

Cora knew that Emma’s brother, Liam, - well, he was not actually her brother, not by blood anyway - was a great Showman, and Emma herself was quite a skilled dancer and singer. She had pleaded with David and Snow to come to Misthaven so that their children could take the place of her own disloyal progeny.

Emma found Cora Mills to be a shrewd and spurious woman, and tried to limit contact with her as much as possible. Cora’s younger daughter, Regina, worked as a fortune teller, while Regina’s husband, Robin, entertained crowds with mastery of his bow and the sleight of his hand. In other words… they were cheats and thieves, the lot of them.

Despite what some might think, the Mills clan were probably more the exception than the rule when it came to gypsy life. Most troupes were honest for the most part, like Emma’s family, who served to entertain, provide healing, and offer goods and services that might enhance others’ lives, and not swindle them. Her parents had raised her and her brother with a sense of _good form;_ a concept that Liam’s actual father had lived and died by, and one that David had adopted (along with his trade of blade smithing), in honor of his friend. A concept that made their close association with a troupe like the Mills seem rather strange to Emma given their lack of scruples, but regardless of their actions or outlook, the Mills were gypsy, and gypsies always looked out for each other. In fact, unbeknownst to Emma, it was this gypsy code that had forged the bonds between the two clans before she was even born.

_Cora and her husband, Henry, had sought out their gypsy brethren once word had reached them about Gold’s ambush. They had located Snow and Liam first, huddled in an alleyway after they had become separated from Amelia and the youngest Jones, but it was many hours later before they were able to track down David. The reunion with his wife and the eldest Jones child was a bittersweet affair as he relayed the news of Brennan’s death._

_Pinned down in an alley with the only means of escape being that of the sewers, Brennan had forced David through the grate as he remained behind to fend off the attack, giving David the time he needed to get away. A hopeful vigil was held for Amelia and Killian’s return as they searched for several more days, until the grim news came. Henry Mills had witnessed the burial of a few newly departed souls in the section of the cathedral cemetery reserved for the poor and unnamed. Among them, he’d discovered, were a young woman and child. With no sign or whisper that could lend to the hope of their escape, it was assumed by all that Amelia and Killian had met their fate that same terrible night as Brennan, leaving Liam as the last Jones, but not alone._

_As gypsy code demanded, and because Snow and David had loved Brennan and Amelia as family, Liam became their son in every way that mattered, even as they awaited the arrival of their first born. The turmoil of events had thrown Snow into an early labor, and though the Mills’ healer had been able to stop her pains, it was decided that they should remain in the capital city until after the birth of their child. For the next four months the Mills clan harboured and protected them, until early in the spring when Emma was born._

_Still fearful of Gold’s retribution, David and Snow had decided to leave Misthaven as soon as mother and child were strong enough to do so. With a newly acquired wagon, thanks to the generosity of the Mills, the Nolan’s had set off and left Misthaven Province behind, never to return._

Until now.

Snow and David had never shared the full story with Emma, and time had diluted much of Liam’s memory about those terrible days. All Emma knew was that Misthaven had been the place where friends and loved ones had been lost, but she remained ignorant of the danger that still haunted David and Snow. For even though nearly twenty years had passed, Gold, now Governor, still sought the few remaining members of the Nolan clan, so it was with fear and trepidation that David and Snow had returned, but only for as long as they were needed to get their brethren, to whom they owed so much, through the rigors of the Feast.

The days leading up to the festival were busy and labor filled. Cora oversaw the assignment of vendor booths and haggled with merchants about prime locations for their tents, pocketing the result of such negotiations with a sly smile and sharp glint to her eye. Robin and his cohort, Will Scarlet, set about making plans for _crowd control_ , which Emma learned was code for two scenarios: a path for the troupe’s pick pockets to work through as they fleeced the crowd, as well as a way to clear a path for a quick get away should any member of their clan need to escape.

Emma kept her focus on assisting her parents and brother with the setup of their own tents and booths, as well as planning out the day’s entertainment. Feats of strength, displays of skill with bow and blade, comedy acts, and other varieties, including dancing and singing, would be featured as they led up to the pinnacle event - the crowning of the King of Fools.

The Feast of Fools was one of frivolity and debauchery. A day when everything was celebrated in backwards fashion. As the saying went, it was a day to mock the prig and shock the priest, a topsy turvy festival where beauty was snubbed, while the vile were revered. A day when the devil in everyone got released, which was why most had taken to the fashion of wearing a mask during the festival. A way to hide their true identities as they partook in all manner of temptation in varying degrees.

The King of Fools was one of the oldest traditions of the Feast. A contest to find the ugliest and most gruesome face, and crown that person to serve as the figurehead for the entire festival. Men were pulled or volunteered from the crowd to make horrible and frightening faces as the crowd jeered or cheered for their favorite. The ugliest would be crowned the King of Fools, and it was up to Liam and Emma to orchestrate the entire affair.

The morning of the festival dawned with bright sunshine and temperate weather. Perfect for a day that was sure to be filled with revelry, merriment, and if the gypsies were lucky, plenty of gold to line their pockets. After seeing that everything at the main stage was in order, Emma made her way back to her family’s tent in order to change into her dance costume.

Along the way she endured the usual lecherous and leering looks from passers-by. Most people looked upon their gypsy garb, displayed in bright colors and alluring cuts, and assumed they were a wanton lot. Emma had no doubt that it was true for some, but gypsy code was strict when it came to fraternization with outsiders. Gypsies were expected to marry gypsies; unifying clans and strengthening troupes, as well as ensuring their culture’s survival. It was rare for outsiders to be welcomed in, but there were always a few exceptions. None of those exceptions, however, allowed for illicit relations, whether they be among gypsy or outsiders. Emma was expected to remain chaste until wed, an expectation that was honored among her fellow gypsy brethren, but seemed to be a subject of challenge for outsiders. For at each and every festival there were always those who anticipated that Emma would somehow be agreeable to their salacious propositions, even going so far as to offer her money for her wiles. Misthaven Province was proving to be no different.

Just as she reached the row of brightly colored tents that her family’s was among, her path was blocked by a young man and a few members of his entourage.

“Excuse me,” she said with polite detachment, not wishing to engage with them any more than necessary.

“What’s your hurry, sweetheart?” the young man questioned as he once again stepped in front of her path when she tried to sweep around him.

He appeared to be only a few years older than her, with soft brown eyes and a mop of brown hair. Despite his youth, deep lines had already begun to set themselves along his eyes, mouth, and cheeks. She might have counted him handsome if it weren’t for the air of entitlement he carried, and the way his gaze swept over her as he licked his lips, sizing her up as a meal he could devour, rather than a person to whom he should show some manner of respect.

“My friends and I were just on our way to the tavern. You should join us.” He reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulder, but she turned out of his grasp before he could pin her to his side.

“I’m afraid I must decline,” she stated, keeping her tone civil, but adding an edge of sharpness. “I’ll be expected at the main stage soon and need to get ready.”

“You’re a part of the entertainment? What’s your specialty?” he asked, his licentious interest unwelcome and making Emma’s skin crawl.

“I’m a dancer.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see you perform,” he leaned in towards her to add, “maybe later you could provide me with a private show.” His wink and smack to her backside as he and his cohorts turned to leave had Emma seething with indignation.

She wanted nothing more than to punch the smug look off the horrid man’s face, but she’d been warned numerous times by her mother and father to not make a scene or cause trouble that might draw too much attention. She knew not why, but her parents were very much on edge and she did not wish to add to their anxieties, which was the only reason she was letting such behavior go. She’d get herself ready for the day’s entertainment, play her part, serve the clan, and forget all about the obnoxious man and his overtures. He was the same as all the rest, and not worth her time or consideration. None of them were.

* * *

Killian had watched the square outside the cathedral’s courtyard transform over the last few days, and much like every year he was drawn to the bright colors and camaraderie of labor he saw displayed among the men and women in charge of its metamorphosis.

As he sat on the ledge of the tower balcony that overlooked the square he contemplated whether or not he’d have the courage to go through with his intention. The intention that this would be the year he would throw caution aside and venture out among the crowds. Crowds, people, activities, merriment, things he had not experienced in many years, if ever really.

It wasn’t that he did not come into contact with people on a regular basis, but outside of the monks and a few others who made their living at the cathedral, Killian tried to keep to himself, and out of sight as much as possible. Despite Bishop Nemo’s encouragement and constant reassurance, Killian still did not believe it honorable to subject the public at large to the shock of his physical nature, nor did he wish to bring shame upon the man who had shown him such kindness. Nemo would argue that Killian could never bring him shame, but how was that to be believed when the looks of parishioners and citizens who caught glimpses of him from time to time suggested otherwise?

Years of torment and abuse had certainly taken their toll on Killian, but over the past six years since leaving the hell Gold’s household had subjected him to, he had found some measure of solace in the quiet and routined life of the cathedral. His duties as groundskeeper and general maintenance and upkeep of the cathedral itself gave him a sense of accomplishment, sometimes even bordering on pride. In addition to those tasks, Killian enjoyed spending his time discussing matters of philosophy and theology with the other monks, and had learned a number of skills in the solitary hours he kept up in his tower or in the forge behind the cathedral.

As Nemo had come to learn many years earlier, Killian indeed had a sound mind and though he was reluctant in his speech with anyone other than those he trusted among the order, he had a quick wit about him as well. Cheeky sometimes, Nemo accused good naturedly, but also respectful and thoughtful, even to those who did not merit such consideration. Except, perhaps, his father and brother, whom he only merited cold tolerance for these days.

The skill of his mind was near equally matched by the skill of his hands as he had become quite proficient over the years at wood carving and metallurgy. Two abilities that were necessary for the general upkeep of the building and grounds, but ones that Killian lent a more artistic license to in his personal time, of which he had much of these days.

After six years, Killian had long since settled into a rhythm for his work. With the advancement of his skill sets, tasks that once took many hours to complete were now accomplished in a fraction of the time. He was bored and restless, and the freedom the cathedral had once offered him was beginning to feel like a prison. Not that he ever wanted to leave, for it was also his sanctuary, and only source of comfort and acceptance. Besides, what would he do about his mask if he were to leave?

Killian had never seen his face, at least, not that he had memory of. He relied upon Felix, a member of the order, to assist in the care of his mask and face, a task Killian could never bring himself to perform on his own. He had no wish to ever look upon his visage. Though he cared little for the man, the guilt he carried over subjecting Felix to such a grisly task turned within his stomach every time he had to watch the young man’s expression as he removed the mask and care for his face.

No. Killian would never leave the cathedral permanently, but he was starting to take Nemo’s insistence that he venture out into the city or countryside, in order to escape his doldrums, more to heart with each passing day. What better time to test the waters of new horizons than at the Feast of Fools?

It had been Nemo’s idea.

“No one wants to stay cooped up here forever,” he’d said.

With most festival goers wearing masks of their own, Killian could mingle within the crowd unnoticed. The more he considered it, the more he wanted it. A chance to be out there. He had spent years carving the likenesses of people who made their living in the square into little wooden figures that adorned his tower room. He’d memorized their faces, knowing them as they would never know him. Heedless of the gift it was to be them, they went about their lives without fear of calumny and consternation.

And so could he. For just this one day, at least.

Killian stood and hopped off the ledge onto the balcony and grabbed his hooded cloak before he made his way down the tower steps. He sought out Nemo to share the news of his plans for the day, and found him in the grand sanctuary of the cathedral conversing with a few parishioners. Killian hung back as the Bishop blessed his flock and was then met with the kind and friendly gaze that he still had trouble accepting.

“Killian!” Nemo greeted as he made his way over to the dark corner Killian frequented when he entered the sanctuary, attempting to disappear in the shadows. Nemo took in the sight of Killian’s cloak and broke out in a joyous smile as he commented, “You’ve decided to join the festival!”

“Aye,” Killian answered.

His nerves began to spike, Nemo’s statement making what he was about to do all the more real, and serving to cause a surge of panic to course through him. Nemo clasped Killian by the shoulders as he leveled his gaze, he was one of the only people who had ever been willing to look Killian in the eye.

“I think that’s wonderful, my son,” Nemo encouraged.

“Truly?” Killian hedged, doubt and insecurity gripping him once more. “I wondered if, perhaps, I shouldn’t just stay here and watch from my balcony. For just one more year.”

“Killian,” Nemo sighed softly, well used to the young man’s hesitant nature. “If all you ever do is watch, then you’ll end up watching your life go by without you. There is still much for you to experience and explore. You deserve these opportunities. Take them.”

As always, Nemo’s confident strength bolstered Killian, and he resolved to throw off the remainder of his trepidations and step out in boldness, despite the risks. Risks that would be minimal that day since he’d easily be able to blend in with the throng, as long as he kept the locking mechanism at the back of his mask concealed.

Donning his hood, he bid Nemo farewell as he made his way to the cathedral doors, only to be intercepted by Felix. Though he should be more grateful that the man endured the discomfort of seeing to his well-being, Killian could never muster too much affection for him. He was a reminder of the cruelty Killian was raised in, and much of the culture of Gold’s household seemed to have followed the young clergyman.

“Did I hear right?” Felix questioned, a deviousness lacing his words. “ _You_ are going to attend the Feast of Fools?”

Killian adjusted his posture into a more commanding stance. He might lack the confidence to engage with the public, but he’d learned over the past six years that neither Gold, nor any of his ilk, had power over him any longer, and Killian refused to give any of it back to them, even in his demeanor.

“Aye. You heard right.”

“The Governor won’t like that,” Felix sang in a mocked warning.

“His wrath will be an added bonus then,” Killian quipped as he pushed past, not a doubt in his mind that Felix would relay such news post haste to Killian’s _father._

Father.

Killian did not know much about family, but he was relatively sure that such a moniker was undeserving for the cruel man who had inexplicably saved his life almost twenty years ago. No paternal affection had ever been bestowed upon Killian when he had lived under Gold’s rule, and in the past six years their interactions had been limited to Sundays only, when it was expected of Killian to join his father and brother, Neal, for the noon day meal after mass. An expectation, Killian felt certain, had more to do with some sort of public or higher authority perception than anything else. Gold and Neal were ambitious men, and would only deign to give Killian any merit of regard if it could be used to serve their plans and purposes.

Not wishing to mar the excitement, for he truly was ecstatic at the prospect of joining in at the festival, Killian put aside his thoughts of Gold and Neal and stepped out of the cathedral and into the bright, light, ready to taste the morning, and freely walk through the square like an ordinary man.

Killian didn’t know where to look first. The overwhelming assault to his senses was both invigorating and alarming as he was jostled back and forth by the teeming crowds. Brightly colored tents and booths lined the cobbled street that led to the stage area that would feature the day’s entertainment. Men, women, and children alike were engaged in all manner of frivolity around him, all sporting festival masks that ranged from light hearted and silly to downright gruesome.

It took some time to acclimate himself to the crowd, but he soon became more confident as he made his way through the vendors. Few gave him or his mask a second look, and Killian felt the sides of his lips scrape against the hardened lines of his mask as he gave a rare smile at the peace he felt at blending in.

His self-assuredness was short lived, however, as a drunken rabble singing a bawdy tune began pushing their way down the lane. Too late to get out of their way, Killian was shoved sideways and lost his footing. Stumbling through an opening in the tent next to him he instinctively reached out to try and grasp anything that would brace his fall, only to wrench down a curtain along with him, exposing the bare back of young woman who had been in the middle of changing.

Killian stammered out all manner of apologies as he attempted to shield his eyes while she hastily donned a robe to cover herself. As she turned to face him, he waited for the looks of horror and disgust that usually appeared when people looked upon him, (forgetting that all manner of masks were common place that day), even as he stared dumbstruck at the radiance her face presented.

Killian felt as if an angel was gazing down at him, concern for his well-being etching her exquisite face. Creamy skin and bright green eyes were framed by a curtain of flaxen tresses. She stayed his stuttering apologies, asking if he was hurt, and when he merely shook his head in response a smile graced her full and ripened lips as she extended her hand to assist him off the stone floor.

“It’s alright then, no harm done,” she offered kindly, and Killian wondered if the current of sparks rendering through his body at the touch of her hand was a normal occurrence, seeing as he had never had the privilege of a woman’s touch before.

His breath caught at the warmth in her gaze, which held firm to his own. Unaccustomed to anyone, save Nemo, meeting his eyes, much less doing so with kindness and gentleness reflected towards him, Killian was struck by the notion that she was looking truly at him.

Not the mask.

Not the monstrosity that lay beneath.

But him. Killian.

As if he were just an ordinary man.

 


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love for my beta @ilovemesomekillianjones!!

* * *

 

**Chapter 2**

Killian never would have expected such a thing to ever happen to him, but there was no denying the fact. He was completely besotted. He’d heard tales of gypsies being guilty of darker practices such as witchcraft, and given that the gypsy girl had completely bewitched him, he was inclined to believe them. Though he’d never attribute such sinister practices to the ethereal goddess whose tent he had stumbled into and all but assaulted with his clumsy manner.

She had reacted with a warm kindness, the likes of which Killian had little experience with, much less from such a beautiful woman. A woman who did not so much as flinch at the appearance of his mask, and had even gone so far as to compliment its fine craftsmanship, as she bid him to enjoy the day.

He’d wandered through the square with little attention to the goings on around him after that, lost in thoughts of the soft skin of her hand and the fragrant aroma of her hair, until he found himself among the masses that had congregated to the main stage. The booming voice of the festival’s Showman rang out across the square as he introduced the next act of entertainment to the rabble. A dancer.

 _Her._ “Emma,” the Showman introduced.

The blonde beauty he’d left only moments ago, or perhaps it had been hours already. He watched as she expertly took command of the stage, and hypnotized the entire square, with her graceful movements, skill, and beauty. Oblivious to the more salacious comments being muttered around him, Killian did not view her performance through a lens of licentious interest, but rather, stood in awe of the control and mastery she displayed over each muscle, line, and form of her body.

Joining in the crowd’s appreciation as she ended her routine, Killian could not take his eyes off the stunning woman and was therefore not paying attention to anything the Showman was saying. His heart began a frantic pace when she found his gaze after surveying the crowd, and gifted him with a bright smile as she beckoned him forward to the stage. Powerless to refuse any offer of invitation to be in her presence, Killian found himself making his way through the crowd and onto the very stage itself. Transfixed once more by the radiance of her face, he allowed her to position him at the end of a long row of other men, and his breath caught as she gave him an alluring wink before departing to the opposite end of the row.

Moments later Killian realized his error in accepting her invitation on stage. She had pulled him from the crowd for The King of Fools contest. A contest that would require each man to remove their mask; a task Killian was not capable of doing, and one that would expose his true identity to all those in attendance. Paralyzed by this gripping panic, Killian watched as the beauty unmasked each man, playing to the crowd as they tried to win over the mob by accentuating their less than attractive features.

Killian tried to find his voice when she found herself before him again, but only managed to choke out a _please don’t,_ as she reached up and tugged at his mask; confusion etched itself along her furrowed brow and down turned lip when it did not give way. Before she could attempt its removal a second time, Killian caught her wrists in his hands and pleaded with her to stop. His actions must have been misconstrued as threatening to the Showman, who immediately appeared at her side and gave Killian a firm shove, ordering him to unhand his sister, causing Killian to stumble backwards and fall to the stage floor.

“No, Liam, it’s fine. He was just-” Her explanation halted as gasps could be heard rippling through the crowd.

His hood had fallen back and Killian knew that the crowd had started to get a glimpse of the locking mechanism. He chanced a glance at the Showman and his lovely sister and could see by their expression that they too had taken note of the lock, and its implications. Shame and humiliation tore through him at the look of shock in her eyes, and Killian hung his head even as he heard a familiar voice jeer at him from the crowd.

“It’s the Masked Monster of Misthaven,” the voice cried out. The voice of his brother, Neal. How different a regard Killian’s brother showed to a sibling in distress, than that which the Showman had displayed for his, and Killian could not help but envy the bond displayed between the gypsies.

As more mocking, jeering, and murmuring began to echo among the crowd, the gypsy girl hissed into her brother’s ear, “You have to settle the crowd, Liam. Before we have a mob on our hands.” The man acknowledged with a nod and turned toward the crowd while she made her way over to where he remained on the stage floor.

Once again she offered her hand to him, and despite the maelstrom of troubled thoughts and emotions warring within him, he felt the same jolt rush through him at her touch. Having helped him to his feet, she brought him forward to the front of the stage and stood with him, her hand in his, as the Showman continued to address the crowd.

“Ladies and Gentleman! Fortune has seen fit to smile upon us today! We asked for the ugliest face in all of Misthaven, and it seems we have found it! One so vile, so gruesome, so grotesque that it must be locked away behind a mask…”

Killian felt her warm breath caress his ear and tried to suppress the shiver of longing he felt run up his spine as she whispered, “He’s just playing to the crowd. He doesn’t mean to cause you offense.”

“It’s alright, lass,” he assured, having found his voice at last and wishing to assuage her of any guilt she might feel over the situation. “I’ve heard worse.”

Though he meant for his words to be those of reassurance for her, he could see the pained expression that crossed her features as he felt a firm hand clasp his shoulder. Looking over to meet the Showman’s gaze he saw it was filled with apology, and something else as well. An acceptance of sorts, perhaps? It wasn’t a look Killian was familiar with, but found himself grateful for it nonetheless.

“So what say you, Misthaven?” the Showman continued. “Have we found our King of Fools?!”

A raucous cheer rose up from the crowd as Killian was led to a makeshift throne and beset with crown, robe, and scepter. Killian watched as the blonde beauty whispered something in the Showman’s ear before she departed the stage area. Saddened as he was to see her go, Killian took in the newly charged atmosphere around him as people cheered and celebrated their new King of Fools.

Him _._

Killian Gold, the Masked Monster of Misthaven, was being cheered and applauded. Smiles were gifted and blown kisses were cast his way by lasses in the crowd, as children waved and giggled when he waved back. Killian had never experienced such a reception and he became overwhelmed at the barrage of new sensations he felt. Contentment, happiness, acceptance.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

 

* * *

Emma continued to try and tamp down her guilt as she changed out of her costume and back into normal attire. She’d only wished to see the face that accompanied the bright blue eyes, lilting voice, and strong physique of the apologetic man who had crashed into her tent earlier that day.

Where other men would have taken advantage of the situation by leering or offering lewd propositions, he had been every bit a gentleman as he stammered and flushed red enough to tint the tips of ears, a tell of his kind nature that his mask had been unable to completely hide away. A mask she now knew he wore as a permanent accessory upon his person. _Why?_

Perhaps, once her festival duties were complete, she would seek him out. The clan would discourage it, seeing as he was an outsider - in more ways than one - but she still felt as though she needed to offer him a greater apology than that which she’d been able to give on the stage amidst the crowd. Plus, if she were being truly honest with herself, she couldn’t deny the connection she’d felt towards the man when his hand had first met hers in that very tent. A connection that had her hand tingling long after his absence, only to resurface as a fluttering within her chest when she had found him in the crowd, and one that had not subsided even after she’d made her exit from the stage,

Emma found herself more and more intrigued by the mysteriously masked man, her gentle stranger, and it wasn’t until her mother and father were ushering her apparently wounded brother into the tent, that she released her musings of him.

“What happened?” Emma cried as she took in Liam’s rough appearance.

“He was knocked from the stage platform,” her mother explained as they sat Liam down on the cushions in the corner.

“What? How?”

“The mob turned,” Liam panted, wincing as their mother assessed his shoulder. Emma could see that it sat at an unnatural angle and a moment later her mother confirmed her suspicions.

“It’s dislocated. We’ll have to set it. David, see if you can find a few of our gypsy brethren to assist.”

As her father left the tent Emma came forward and pressed Liam once more for the details of how he came by such an injury.

“I was setting things up for the next act. One moment the crowd was happy and cheering, the next someone began throwing rotting food and stones at the man you pulled up on stage.”

“The one in the mask?” she questioned as her heart dropped, and then had to clarify when she saw the confused looks of her mother and brother. _Right. Everyone’s in a mask today._ “I mean the one we crowned The King of Fools.”

“Aye,” Liam answered. “I tried to intervene. Tried to settle the crowd, but a group of men rushed the stage and I was forced off the platform.”

“What about the man in the mask?”

“They subdued him and have him trussed up on stage for the crowd to mock and jeer at,” her mother supplied with an air of disgust.

“They what?! We have to do something!” Emma turned toward the tent entrance only to be stopped by her mother.

“No, Emma! Let the authorities handle it. I’m sure they have it well in hand,” her mother argued, alarm evident in her tone and features.

Now cognizant of the sounds of the crowd beyond the tent, Emma very much doubted her mother’s assurances. When her mother was again occupied with her brother’s care, Emma took the opportunity to rush from the tent, despite her mother’s cries of protest, and see to the man’s condition herself. What she found turned her stomach, and she had to fight the rising bile in her throat.

Trussed up by his wrists and ankles like so much livestock, the sweet man who had offered her gentlemanly kindness, which she had paid back by making him a spectacle, was face down center stage enduring all manner of indignities in front of the rabid mob. Emma scoured the crowd for a source of authority to whom she might beseech a plea when her eyes landed on the Governor himself, seated on his raised dias. Making haste to try and seek an audience, Emma was thwarted by a robed clergyman who got there first.

“Enough of this, Gold. I beg you to put an end to this cruelty,” the robed man implored.

“Not yet,” the Governor sneered. “A lesson must be learned here.”

Emma seethed at the man’s callousness. _Fine. If he won’t put a stop to this insanity, then I will._ Emma took determined steps towards the stage and made her way up the stairs as a hush fell over the mob; a hush of curious anticipation as the crowd waited to see what might happen next. Four men surrounded her gentle stranger and Emma recognized them at once. It was the man who had accosted her earlier and his cronies. Emma fixed each of them with a hard stare, the one her brother said could halt a stampede of horses. It certainly seemed to do the trick as three of the men backed away when she advanced. The last man, her would be suitor, gave her a lecherous grin and then taunted the bound man one last time before delivering a hard kick to his ribs. Declaring that he’d grown bored of the day’s entertainment he left the stage area with a prideful swagger.

Once she was assured that the men were well and truly gone she knelt next to the bound man. Her nose wrinkled at the assault the vestiges of rotten food and other foulness that she did not wish to consider covering his body had on her senses. She choked back tears as she met his hollow gaze.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered through the strain of sobs that threatened to take over. “This wasn’t suppose to happen.”

Something sparked behind his eyes, as if he was coming out of some sort of stupor. A tranced state that had probably given him a small measure of self preservation in the face of such an atrocity committed against him. She nearly lost control over her composure at the warm relief she saw bloom within his crystalline eyes. After everything she’d done that had led him to this state how could he look at her that way?

He groaned as he tried to move his still bound limbs and Emma reached for the small dagger hidden in her boot, about to cut through the ropes when she heard a cold voice issue a command.

“You! Gypsy girl. Get down from there!”

Emma recognized the voice as that of the Governor and without deigning to look his way she answered, “Certainly, Your Honor. Just as soon as I free this poor man.”

“I forbid it!”

Emma stiffened in defiance and glanced once more into the eyes of her gentle stranger. Eyes that flashed with panic as he must have sensed what she was about to do and beseeched her as he spoke with pain lancing through each syllable.

“Don’t, lass. Please. Just leave me.”

Emma couldn’t do that. This was her fault and she meant to make it right. She wouldn’t just leave him there to suffer further. Resolute in her course, she cut through his bindings and released him.

“How dare you defy me,” the Governor scorned.

Emma turned to face the odious man, catching sight of Robin within the crowd as she did. With a subtle movement of his head he indicated the direction of the escape route troupe members were positioning themselves to prepare for her, knowing this was not going to end well. She gave a small nod of acknowledgement before fully turning her attention and ire on the mockery of the man who held the highest station within Misthaven.

“What sort of man sits idly by and derives pleasure from the suffering of others?” she challenged, watching his complexion turn an incensed shade of purple. She turned her judgement toward the crowd and admonished those who would condone such vile indifference, while calling upon those who would stand for justice.

Her brother might be a born Showman, but Emma knew how to work a crowd to her advantage as well, and it wasn’t long before she had the mob back on her side. Which would only serve to her advantage when the moment came to make her escape.

“Mark my words, _gypsy_ ,” Governor Gold spat, venom dripping from his words. “You will pay for this insolence.”

“Then it seems we’ve crowned the wrong king,” she taunted as she caught Robin’s eye. The time had come. “The only fool I see, is you!”

“Guards! Arrest her!”

Before Emma could take a single step towards the escape route, a large hand clamped down onto hers. Her head snapped to the masked man who was now standing on shaky legs.

“Come with me,” he commanded, and she was powerless to resist him as he, by some miracle, led her toward the very path her gypsy brethren were clearing for her.

_Wait. Was he gypsy?_

The troupe members created diversions and obstacles that blocked the soldier’s path, while the impassioned mob began to riot around them. Though his legs must still have been numb from their binding, the man led her with quick steps along the gypsy path, but instead of veering toward the alleyway he maintained his course straight ahead toward the cathedral.

 _Not gypsy, then,_ Emma determined. For none of her kind would choose the protection of outsiders, even the church, over their own kind.

The robed clergyman she had seen pleading with the Governor earlier ushered them into the cathedral and secured the heavy wooden doors behind them as chaos continued to erupt in the square.

“Nemo. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sor-”

“Enough of that, my son. You’ve nothing to be sorry for,” the clergyman countered at the man’s offer of apology.

“Go now and get yourself cleaned up and tended to,” he instructed. “Felix! See to his needs.”

Emma watched as a pointy-faced young man came forward, disgust and revulsion evident on his face at the state of the masked man.

“Come on, then,” he grumbled, not waiting to see if his charge followed as he made his way toward the stone steps at the back of the narthex, and Emma watched with intrigue as he pulled a key from beneath his robes attached to a length of cording around his neck.

“I…” the man began, pulling her focus back to him once more. He swallowed thickly, and she could see a flurry of thoughts pass behind his crystalline gaze. “Thank you, lass,” he offered with a soft sincerity that made Emma’s heart flutter.

Before she could respond, the clergyman urged him once more to go tend to himself as he assured, “I’ll see to the young woman, not to worry. Go on now.”

Her gentle stranger gave her one last grateful look and perhaps a shy smile, it was difficult to tell through the mask, before following after the pointy-faced man.

Banging from the large wooden doors rang throughout the cathedral and Emma only then remembered the soldiers and the edict for her arrest. Casting panicked glances around for a means of escape, she was about to sprint towards one of the hallways leading to the back of the cathedral when the clergyman, Nemo the man had called him, placed a calming hand on her shoulder.

“You’ve nothing to fear, my child,” he soothed. “Misthaven Cathedral is prepared to offer you Sanctuary, a law that not even Governor Gold can challenge. You are safe here.”

He nodded towards his right and a boy she had not noticed came forward.

“Nicholaus will show you to the chamber you may use as your own while you are with us, while I see to the guards. We’ll discuss matters further as soon as I’ve settled things with Gold. For now you are free to explore the cathedral and make yourself at home.”

Nemo walked toward the doors as Emma felt a slight tug at her skirt. Young Nicholaus beckoned her to follow him, and it seemed she had little choice in the matter.

* * *

Cleaned and tended to, Killian sat on the ledge of his balcony overlooking the square. What a difference in the spectacle below him as compared to that morning.

Tents and booths had been knocked down or ransacked by the riotous mob, the injured were being treated, and the soldiers continued to try and clear the square of destruction. Destruction that was all his doing. If only he’d stayed in his tower and watched. If only he hadn’t invited trouble onto himself by going out among the public. He knew Felix would inform Gold of his presence at the festival, and he should have expected that Neal would never pass up an opportunity to torment him. He’d been selfish, and careless, and now he had dragged _her_ into his mess.

She must hate him, surely.

If she hadn’t reason to before, she certainly did now, and his chest ached at the knowledge that he had effectively lost whatever measure of acceptance and grace she had so willingly bestowed upon him before. The one person, other than Nemo, who had ever offered him a kindness without any hint of prejudice or fear, and he’d managed to tangle her so far into his troubles that she now had an edict out for her arrest.

Killian hadn’t doubted for a moment that Nemo would offer her the protection of sanctuary, so he at least had the comfort of knowing that the church would harbour her. This was the only comfort he was sure to be afforded when it came to the gypsy girl. Emma.

The appearance of soldiers exiting the cathedral brought Killian’s attentions back to the present. He was eager to find out how the meeting concerning Emma’s claim to sanctuary, between Nemo and Gold had gone. He tamped down the worry that his conniving father might have found a way around the Law of Sanctuary, knowing that not even he had the might to do so. Even still, Killian would not be completely assured until he heard the outcome from Nemo himself, and so he set out to locate the Bishop, staying within the shadows to avoid the few parishioners that were milling about.

Expecting to find Nemo in the grand sanctuary, just as he had that morning, Killian entered the expansive room and was halted at its entrance by the most resplendent sight he had ever beheld. Standing in the late afternoon glow of one of the more stunning stained glass windows was Emma, bathed in a kaleidoscope of colors, the effect of which had the breath caught in his lungs as he felt his heart pound within his chest. Transfixed by her beauty he did not see the parishioner stomping toward him.

“You! Monstrosity! What are you doing here? Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”

Emma’s head whipped around and he saw her eyes go wide. Not wishing to cause her or anyone else more distress, Killian turned and hurried from the room even as he heard her call out to him.

“No, wait!”

He wasn’t sure why he ran from her. Some primal instinct took over, driving him towards the safety of his rooms even as she followed after him. She caught him on the landing just outside the tower chamber.

“There you are,” she panted, out of breath from the sprint up the spiral stairs. “I was afraid you’d left.”

“Yes, well, I, uh” he stammered, unsure of what to say, or what her motive might be for seeking him out. Surely she could not wish for his company. “As you can see I’m still here, but I’m afraid I have tasks to see to… uh, it was nice, uh, seeing you again.” He cringed at his own bumbling and dashed up the remaining steps to his door with her right at his heels.

“Wait! I wanted to apologize to you for this afternoon,” she continued, undeterred. “If I’d had any idea what would have happened, I never would have pulled you up onto the… stage…” Her words fell away as she took in the room around her, an expression of awe gracing her features and filling Killian with a stirring of something like pride as she marveled at his creations.

“What is this place?” she asked, moving to inspect his belongings on display around the room. The carved wooden figures, the mobiles of repurposed stained glass, the blades and metal etchings, all carefully examined with a sharp eye and soft touch.

“This is where I live,” he answered.

“You made all these?”

“Aye. It passes the time.”

“They’re beautiful,” she complimented in a hushed tone that felt almost reverent to Killian, though he wasn’t sure such a term could ever be attributed to anything crafted by his hand. “If I could do this you wouldn’t see me dancing for coin,” she mused.

“But you’re a brilliant dancer,” he blurted, instantly feeling the heat of his blush as it radiated from beneath his mask. He dipped his head to avoid her eyes, missing the soft smile and tint of pink upon her own cheeks.

“Well, it keeps food on the table, anyway,” she replied as she continued to inspect his work bench. “What’s this?” She lifted the corner of cloth draped over items on the table.

“No, wait. I’m not finished with them,” he protested as she uncovered blades in their early stages of forging, not yet polished or fitted with handles.

“Did you make these as well?”

“Yes, but they aren’t finished yet.”

“This is extraordinary work,” she praised as she looked each blade over with a trained eye. Even if she could not see his furrowed brow, she must have sensed his perplexed intrigue as she further explained, “My father is a blade smith. A skill an old gypsy friend taught him long ago. Papa says his friend used to do tricks to entice people to buy his wares, but Papa’s never managed to do any. He just makes the blades and let’s them sell themselves.”

“What happened to him? Your father’s friend.”

“He died before I was born.”

“I’m sorry,” Killian offered, berating himself for casting a pall upon their otherwise pleasant exchange. “Would you like to see me do a trick?” Killian asked, surprising himself with this sudden boldness just so he might put a smile back on her face.

“I would love to!”

His pulse began to race again at the enthusiasm she offered as he selected three completed knives from the workbench. Positioning them in his hands he warned, “You might want to take a step back.”

She complied, and with a deep breath Killian tossed the first blade into the air, followed by the second and third, and proceeded to juggle the razor sharp weapons for a few moments before he masterfully caught each one by the handle and then placed them back on the table.

The gypsy girl clapped her hands, a beaming smile at her lips, as she exclaimed, “That was incredible!”

The atmosphere of his room had never held such an aura before. A pressure of charged tension that was not at all unpleasant permeated the air between him and the beautiful gypsy girl, and it seemed to seep into his chest and pulse throughout his entire body, throwing him off kilter. Obstinately blank, his mind refused to offer up any source of response to her gracious praise and all he could do was stare at the astonishing woman who continued to baffle him with her kindness.

“What’s your name?” she asked softly, eyes dancing with curiosity as she continued to look upon him with such open regard that it made his very skin come alive with ripples of wonder.

“Killian,” he exhaled, noticing her eyes widen as if the name might mean something to her.

“I’m Emma.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Emma.”

Killian wondered how he had not noticed just how closely she’d come to stand before him and the charge in the room seemed to swell at his awareness of her proximity. By the way she licked at her lips and averted her gaze, he questioned whether or not she sensed it as well.

“I truly am sorry about earlier,” she said, cutting through the tensity that lingered and bringing them back to the reason she had followed him up there in the first place.

“It’s alright, lass,” he responded. “It wasn’t your doing. I should be the one to apologize, it’s my fault you now find yourself in need of the Law of Sanctuary.” Guilt gripped him once more, and needing to distance himself from it, from her, from the unworthiness of being in her striking presence, he turned to step out onto the balcony.

“About that,” she called after him. “I’m still a bit unsure as to what that means. That man, Nemo? He said he’d explain it all to me, but I haven’t seen him since just after you left to...”

He felt his cheeks burn once more at the reminder of the pitiful state she had witnessed of him. Another indignity he could add to the long list of affronts she’d suffered since their meeting.

“The Law of Sanctuary,” he began in explanation, so they might leave the other matter behind them, “is a protection that the church can offer to those under persecution. You’ll be granted asylum within the walls, and be harboured until a resolution can be met.”

“The cathedral is going to harbour _me_? A gypsy?” Emma questioned, skepticism tethering each word to the nature of her mistrust as she apparently was not accustomed to such kindnesses towards her kind either.

“The cathedral offers sanctuary to all those unjustly persecuted.”

“Like you?” She stepped out onto the balcony and he could see her assessing him anew, questions of how he came to reside within the cathedral flashing behind her jade eyes.

”Well, sometimes it harbours those who _are_ deserving of their persecution as well.”

Her brows furrowed, a small frown marring her features as she considered his statement before her curiosity seemed to get the better of her and she asked, “Why do you wear the mask?”

He knew she would eventually get around to the question. It was not every day one came into contact with a man whose face had to be locked behind a metal prison. Expected as the question was, though, Killian could not stop the flinch that rolled over his body as he turned away from her in disgrace.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s…. it’s alright,” he comforted as he turned back, not wishing to cause her any further distress. “The mask, it... it hides the shame,” he confessed quietly, not able to meet her gaze.

“The shame? The shame of what?”

“Being an abomination.”

“You are _not_ an abomina-”

“Oh, but I am,” he interjected as he caught her eyes with his own. “I was born with a horrid affliction. A deformity so repugnant I must hide it from others to save them the offense of such a violation of their sensibilities. Or at least… so I’ve been told.”

“So you’ve been told?” she inquired, incredulous at the implication as she clarified, “you mean you’ve never seen…”

“No,” he answered, a harsher tone than he’d intended grounding the response.

“By why wouldn’t you want to-” she began once again, but stopped suddenly as she took in his physical response.

The panic of experiencing such a thing, of coming face-to-face with his monstrosity was a thought he could not bear, the very idea stealing the breath from his lungs and making his heart pound. He grasped at his chest as if to keep the vice gripped organ from hammering through only to feel her hand cover his. Stunned by her action his eyes dropped to their hands splayed over his chest and then snapped back up to hers, concern and compassion he did not merit swimming in their depths. She pulled his hand away from his now calming heartbeat and laced it together with hers, giving him an encouraging nod that bolstered him to give voice to his distress.

“My mother abandoned me because of my face... I cannot bring myself to look upon such a visage that would cause a mother to withdraw her love...  turn her back on her own flesh and blood. Such a sight must be truly abhorrent, and... I’m haunted enough by the shadow of what my mask represents. I have no desire to look upon its true fullness.” It was the first time Killian had ever given voice to the true pain of what his mask meant, and he found himself struggling to keep his unsteady emotions in check throughout the telling.

Emma’s hand tightened around his as she gave him a moment to collect himself before responding.

“Well, it might represent something painful, but as I said before, in my tent, I think it’s a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.” Her soft smile had his pulse hastening once more, but in a completely different way than his panic had induced. He was surprised, and more than a little relieved, to find no evidence of pity in her gaze, only tenderness.

“Thank you,” he replied. “I forged this one myself.”

Her brows raised in shock as she replied, “You did?”

“Aye. New ones have had to be fashioned over the years due to my growth or general wear. When the time came I wanted to forge the next one myself,” he gave a shy smile that he wasn’t sure she’d be able to notice as he confessed. “I suppose there was an element of vanity to my motive. I wanted to try and present a more pleasing image than the previous ones had. One that might make people forget about the disfigurement beneath.”

“Well, the work is exquisite, and I think you succeeded in your attempt.”

His breath caught as she took a step closer, her hand still entwined with his.

“I don’t see a disfigurement at all when I look upon it. I find that it only reflects the true nature of the man beneath it.”

Her eyes caressed his mask and she brought her other hand up to trace the fine etching detail he had adorned it with. Killian felt a shiver run over the length of his spine at the touch, even though her fingers only brushed over cold metal and not his flesh. A stirring awoke within him as he watched her eyes flicker to the hardened lips of the mask, and he wondered if her lips would be able to reach his through the opening at the mouth should she try and kiss him. An act she could not possibly be considering with him of all people, and he shook the fanciful thought from his mind.

“Well isn’t this cozy,” a familiar voice drawled, and Killian’s hand tightened around Emma’s as recognition flared through him.

“Get out,” he growled at his brother. He heard a gasped _you_ escape from the lips of the woman beside him as she pulled her hand out of his grip. The loss of which left him feeling bereft, and he longed for her touch in a way one might want for comfort. A mercy he was so rarely afforded in his life.

“And miss the exciting conclusion to the spectacle you two put on today?” Neal taunted smugly as he leaned against the opening leading out to the balcony.

“As if you didn’t hold the lion’s share of the blame,” Emma accused, staring daggers at Neal. “You should be the one under arrest for what you did to him, not me. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“And you should have joined me for that drink earlier,” Neal countered, and Killian’s eyes bounced between Neal and the gypsy girl, thrown at the fact that such an angel had already encountered the vileness of his brother. Killian might be a monstrosity, but he realized long ago that his father and brother were a type of monster all their own. “Instead you chose to bestow your favor on the wrong brother.”

“Brother?!” she exclaimed, her eyes snapping back to his own, wide in disbelief.

Before he could offer an explanation another voice cut through the late afternoon gathering in which the three found themselves entrenched. A voice smooth yet cruel, and one that made Killian’s blood ignite in fury.

“An enchanting view,” Gold mused as he made his way onto the balcony to stand before his quarry.

“She has the protection of sanctuary. You’ve no right to be here,” Killian snapped as he moved to position himself between the angel and his demon father.

“Indeed she does,” he oiled as he took in Killian’s protective stance. “As to my right, well... I think you’ll find my position affords me the right to go anywhere, and do most anything I please.”

Killian advanced at the implication only to be stayed by Emma’s hand clasping his arm.

“But, I am not here to force the gypsy girl from the protection of Sanctuary. I am merely here to offer her the opportunity to do the right thing.”

Emma scoffed as she responded, “You wouldn’t know the right thing if it came up and bit you in the-” She cut off her own response at Nemo’s appearance.

Relief flooded Killian and he relaxed his stance slightly. Surely the Bishop would see to the removal of his father and brother from the cathedral.

“I apologize for the interruption,” Nemo offered, despite the glares he received from Gold and Neal, “but felt it my duty to preside over this meeting. Please. Continue.”

Turning once more to face Emma, Gold gave Killian one last calculating look before addressing her.

“You have a choice to make gypsy. You can surrender yourself to judgement for your actions today and accept your punishment, or-”

“Or nothing,” Killian interrupted through clenched teeth, feeling the muscles in his jaw jump with fury. “She has sanctuary. She can remain here as long as she wishes and there’s nothing you can do about that.”

“Yes,” Gold drawled. “Well she’s chosen a magnificent prison, but it is a prison nonetheless,” and he all but impaled the gypsy girl with the steel of his gaze as he added, “We both know that gypsies don’t do well behind stone walls. Do they, dearie?”

Killian turned to see the truth of Gold’s statement on her face. While he might be content to lock himself away behind the safe, stone walls of the cathedral, Emma was different. She was life and vivacity. An iridescence as brilliant as any of the stained glass windows that adorned the cathedral’s edifice. Her life was meant to radiate such splendor, and Killian knew that being caught behind the stone walls would only dull her luster and cause her spirit to dim.

“Besides,” Gold continued, “reparation must be made for the disruptions you caused at the festival. If you will not accept responsibility for it, then I must find another.

“What do you mean?” Emma questioned, hostility dripping from her words even as Killian could sense the dread creeping up within her.

“If you choose to remain shielded within the protection of sanctuary, then I will simply mete out the justice for your crimes on a substitute.”

“You can’t do that!” she exclaimed.

“I’m afraid he can, my child,” Nemo confirmed sadly, catching Killian’s eye with remorse. “The law allows for him to seek out justice on a surrogate if you fully invoke the Law of Sanctuary.”

“So who shall it be then, gypsy?” Gold taunted. “Your brother, perhaps? Or maybe another member of your clan?”

Stabbing guilt pulsated in Killian’s gut. This was all his fault. He never should have left the cathedral, never should have believed he could simply blend in and belong. His covetous desire to spend one day as any other ordinary man had led to this, and he knew first hand the brutality of Gold’s punishments. He would not subject her, whose only wrong was to show him mercy, to bear the brunt of such viciousness, nor could he allow her family, kinsman, or some other innocent Gold might pull from the crowd to suffer such a fate.

“You leave them out of this! They’ve nothing to do with-”

“I’ll take it.” Killian interjected, stepping forward with resolve.

“What?” Emma’s eyes widened at his insistence.

“The punishment,” Killian confirmed before Gold, not able to meet the incredulous gaze he could feel burning into the side of his mask in its intensity. “I’ll take it in her stead.”

“Will you now?” Gold sang, and the glint in his eye confirmed that which Killian had already come to suspect.

This was what his father had wanted all along. To see Killian suffer. No matter the amount of hardship he might press upon others, Killian would always be Gold’s preferred victim, and apparently he hadn’t gotten his fill of Killian’s torment earlier when the method of torture had been humiliation at his brother’s hand. Gold cared not about the gypsy girl, the chaos of the mob, or destroyed booths and wares, his entertainment had been disrupted and now he was there to collect.

“Killian, no,” Emma pleaded as she took his hand into hers once more. “I can’t let you do that.”

“It’s alright Emma,” he soothed before throwing a pointed look at his brother. “Taking the punishments of others seems to be my purpose in this life. It’s a penance I must pay for what I am.” She began to protest once more, but he stayed her words by cupping her face within his hands, another astonishing action he would not have thought himself courageous enough to perform. “Emma, please. Let me shoulder this burden for you. Your only crime was showing kindness to someone like me.” He turned his focus back to Gold. “The disruption at the festival today was my doing. I should have never attended. I will accept the punishment in exchange for Emma’s full pardon of any wrongdoing. Deal?”

“Deal,” Gold sneered, and Neal grasped his arm, wrenching him from Emma, as he led him back to the square and the sentence that awaited him.

“No! No, please. Don’t do this!” he heard Emma cry out in anguish.

Turning to look upon her once more, Killian saw Nemo stilling her advance as he offered an arm of comfort along her shoulders. Her eyes burned with a pain he could not identify and he was desperate to rid her of such disquiet. Desperate to bring back her smile and wonder. Desperate to protect her from the ugliness of his world, and the harsh reality she seemed incapable of seeing. He was a monster. A monster who had little to offer to someone such as her, other than this offer of protection. Protection that would require him to submit himself once more before a cruel master he’d sworn to never be controlled by again. A submission he’d willingly undertake for her, and in that moment Killian knew there was nothing he wouldn’t do for his gypsy girl.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Killian's punishment is administered, and Emma is adamant that her family stay to help him recover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a deep breath...

* * *

 

**Chapter 3**

Killian stood upon the raised platform, attempting to clear his mind and steady his breathing as his wrists were bound before him and the terms of his sentence were announced to the wanton crowd that had been allowed back in the square.

Twenty lashes.

Despite his efforts to remain calm, the pronouncement caused his nerves and panic to spike. He’d had worse, admittedly, but twenty lashes was no small matter, and it had been a number of years since he’d had to endure such an assault. Fortunately, they’d be administered with a birch, and not a whip or chain, this modest comfort compelled Killian to send up silent prayers of gratitude for that small mercy.

Though the shoot of pliant wood could administer some nasty lacerations, it did not tend to cleave the flesh as a whip did, nor was it substantial enough in weight or force to break his ribs or cause the deep bruising other instruments could, bruising that would take upwards of a month or more to heal.

Killian was all too familiar with the variety of tools one could use to carry out this sentence, for he had been prone to them all at some point or another. As methods of sanction went, the birch was the best he could have hoped for.

After tearing his tunic from his body, guards trussed up his arms, secured them to a hook at the top of a post, and left him barely able to gain purchase with his feet on the platform. Over the years, in all the times he had met this punishment before, he’d never been able to adequately prepare himself for that first strike. A stinging fire followed by a numbness that stole his breath, and then transformed itself into a pulsing ache that metronomed his heart beat throughout his entire body.

He always hoped for the over eager disciplinarians to mete out his punishments. Those who gave little pause between their ministrations, allowing the old sting to dull him to the new. Such a blessing was not to be his today, however, for just as the numbness subsided another scorching strike combusted along his back.

The cheers and mocking from the crowd rang in his ears, and Killian tried to force his eyes to open and find a point outside of himself to focus upon. A third snap seared across his lower back and he felt the release of pressure from under his skin, signifying that the blow had broken through. Killian could taste the coppery result of biting back his screams, refusing to give voice to his torment as a fourth lash resonated.

After the fifth strike the guard called out for another length of birch, the first appearing to have had some sort of defect that rendered it broken and useless after only a quarter of the way through the sentencing. Killian took the opportunity to fill his lungs fully and spat out the pool of blood from his mouth, not all of which was able to clear his mask.

Bracing himself as best he could before the onslaught resumed, Killian’s gaze landed on the door of the cathedral where Bishop Nemo and the woman Killian gladly bore this penance for stood together.

Emma.

The gypsy girl.

The kindest and loveliest woman he had ever met, not that there were many in his acquaintance by which to compare, but regardless, Killian knew that there was no one else quite as remarkable in all the lands of the kingdom as the gypsy girl who had looked beyond the mask he wore and tried to see the man that lie beneath. If, indeed, there was one.

He wished she would not endure the audience of his shame, and was relieved to see the Bishop try and persuade her back inside. Resolute in her refusal, however, she started to move closer to the platform only to be met by her brother, whose arm now bore a sling, and an older couple Killian could only assume were her parents. All were urging her back towards the safety of the cathedral, but she struggled against them in a bid to come closer still.

Killian could see her tears now, and a wash of sorrow swept over him knowing that he was their cause. Didn’t she realize that he was not deserving of them?

The blistering strikes began again, and Killian held fast to Emma’s gaze, allowing her compassion, and even her despondency, to fortify him for the remaining onslaught. At the twelfth lash he could no longer hold back his cries. By the fifteenth his stance gave way as his knees buckled, leaving him suspended from the pole and unable to keep himself squarely positioned, which caused several of the remaining lashes to make contact with the tender flesh of his side, rather than his back.

Once the final blow had been administered Killian was released from the hook and left to crumple unceremoniously to the platform. He was jarred by the unyielding metal of his mask hitting the solid planks; a force that knocked his teeth together and sent black strobes into his vision.

He was hauled to his feet and could not keep himself from wearily laying his head against the shoulder of the very man who had just administered his sentence. Jerked back with unnecessary force, he was then thrust forward into a pair of strong arms that worked to steady him as he tried to regained his bearings. When it seemed that such a feat would be impossible, Killian barely registered the repositioning of those arms until he was hoisted up over a strong shoulder and felt an arm carefully hold him in place as it wrapped along his lower back just below his wounds. Carried from the platform by his unknown benefactor, Killian allowed the creeping blackness that had been hovering at the edge of his consciousness to overtake him.

 

* * *

“We should leave Misthaven at once. I don’t trust Gold to keep his word.”

The buzzing that filled Killian’s head started to organize itself into coherent patterns and he was able to discern that what he was hearing wasn’t a swarm, but voices. Urgent and unfamiliar voices.

“I can’t do that, Papa! I can’t just leave him like this, not after what he just did for me.”

“But why, Emma?” a softer voice than the first questioned. “Why would an outsider to our kind agree to stand in the gap on a gypsy’s behalf?”

“Especially an outsider such as him,” another voice cut in.

“Don’t, Liam,” Emma chastised. “You don’t know a thing about him. None of you do. So what if he isn’t gypsy? We owe him a debt and I’m not leaving here until it’s fulfilled.”

“You should go, lass,” Killian said, finally getting his bearing. He was back in his room laying face down on his bed, head turned to the open expanse of the chamber facing the four gypsies congregated there. “You have pardon. Go, while you still can.”

Emma rushed over and crouched down beside him. “No. I’m not leaving you like this. This is my doing, and I won’t leave you until you’ve recovered. I owe you at least that.”

She was followed by the older woman he’d seen standing with her during his sentencing. Her mother most likely. She had a kindness about her face that was shared by her daughter.

“You owe me nothing, Emma. I told you. It is my purpose in life to take the punishment for others… this was hardly the first time.”

“No. It wasn’t, was it?” The older woman’s gaze had fallen to his back, and she took in the evidence of his previous punishments. Years of beatings, whippings, and scourges that had written their accounts across his shoulders, back, and even lower in the script of scars that had faded in varying degrees over time.

The chamber door opened, revealing Bishop Nemo with a tray of supplies, and the older woman approached to take it from him.

“Mother is quite the skilled healer,” Emma explained. “She asked Nemo for the necessary items to treat your wounds. Is that alright?”

The gypsy girl worried at her lip, and Killian reached for her hand, trying to offer her a soft smile as he replied, “Aye, lass. I appreciate the kindness.”

Emma’s mother set the tray upon his workbench and began the task of organizing the materials for his treatment. Her father and brother were examining the contents of his room, much like Emma had done, each with varying degrees of fascination.

Killian felt Emma remove her hand from his, a small whimper fell from his lips at its absence but it was replaced by the stronger grip of Nemo as the Bishop knelt down next to Killian’s bed.

“I’m sorry, my son.”

Nemo’s voice was thick with unresolved anguish, and Killian could not bear to gaze into his remorse filled eyes. Nemo had always borne the burden of blame when it came to Killian’s treatment at Gold’s hand, though the bishop had nothing to atone for. Killian’s lot had been cast long before Nemo had even entered Misthaven, and the man had done more to show Killian kindness and affection than any other person in his life. This was not Nemo’s fault, but Killian knew the man would blame himself nonetheless.

“I vowed when I brought you here six years ago that it would be the end of this madness and cruelty. I should have remembered the provision in the law for a surrogate. I could have-”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Killian interjected as he squeezed Nemo’s hand. “Gold had his agenda set the moment he was notified of my attendance among the festival goers. It was his first opportunity in six years, he would have found a way to mete out his torment. The important thing is that you were able to keep  _ her _ safe.” Killian nodded in the direction of the gypsy girl who had joined her family once again, the four of them still in heated, but hushed discussion.

“I only offered her the protection of sanctuary,” Nemo countered. “You are the one that got her to safety and ensured the provision of her pardon.”

Killian wasn’t sure which reflection behind Nemo’s eyes was more difficult to take in; the look of remorse from moments before, or the glimmer of pride bestowed upon him now.

“Your Grace?” Emma’s mother broached. “We really must begin work on his wounds.”

The mention of the impending ministrations for his back brought the dull throbbing that had been present since he’d regained consciousness into sharp focus, and Killian groaned at the awareness of his pulse hammering against each mark seared into his skin by the birch. He focused on keeping his breathing steady, and considered how long it might take for the wounds to fully heal. A fortnight, he guessed, and with that speculation, new concerns plagued him.

“My duties,” he grit out against the rising pain that steadily crescendoed from nagging to agonizing as more of his attentions were drawn to the rhythm of trauma strumming across his back.

“Do not concern yourself with that now,” Nemo soothed as he stood and made room for the chair Emma’s mother had brought over to set beside him. “We’ll find someone to see to the daily chores, everything else can wait until you are well enough to resume your work. For now, you must rest, and heal.”

Nemo nodded to Emma’s mother as she took a seat, a tray of linens, ointments, thread and needle, and other items placed on her lap.

“Please, let me know if there is anything more you require,” Nemo said before turning to leave.

“His mask,” the woman called out after him. “I’ll need it removed so I can see where the blood down his neck is coming from.”

Killian stiffened, hissing at the wave of fiery pain that rolled through the tightening of his skin as it pulled at the lacerations. Panic vibrated through his chest, filling him with wild desperation. They couldn’t remove his mask. It was bad enough that the kind woman would be subjected to the gore of his punishment, he would not allow any of them to bear the burden of his affliction.

“No!” he cried out as he tried to push himself off the bed.

Strong hands forced him back down onto his stomach by his shoulders. Another weight draped itself over the back of his thighs and the two forces held him in place even as he thrashed against them in alarm.

“Killian! Killian, stop!” he heard a voice cry out, muffled by the fear that threatened to suffocate his senses.

“Killian, look at me,” the voice demanded, and only then was he aware that his eyes were closed.

Snapping them open, he stilled at the sight before him. Lying beneath his bed, with her head breaching the end so that she could face his own, which was hanging off the end, was Emma.

She reached out and cupped his metallic cheeks as she promised, “We won’t remove your mask.”

Killian let out a shaky breath as he took in the sincerity of her words mirrored by the intensity within her eyes. He gave a small nod of understanding and felt the weight at his shoulders and thighs lift, realizing in his now calmer state that it had been her father and brother restraining him in order to keep him from injuring himself further. A swirl of guilt looped through his stomach and he closed his eyes in shame over his actions.

“Killian. Look at me,” she commanded again and he was helpless to deny her anything. “Mother is going to treat your wounds, and then we’ll have Felix come up later to examine beneath your mask. Papa and Liam will take up any tasks that need to be done until you’re well.” He opened his mouth to protest, but she stopped him before he could utter a response. “We are going to take care of you, so there is no use arguing. And don’t you dare lay there and wallow thinking you don’t deserve our kindness,” she admonished, but instead of feeling chastised, Killian felt the corners of his lips twitch up as he marveled at her strength.

“Aye, lass,” he conceded, relaxing further into his bed and willing himself to be a proper patient.

Emma took her gaze from him, but made no attempt to move from the floor as she nodded the belief of his compliance to the members of her family. Focusing on his breathing once more he was only barely aware that after repositioning him on the bed, her father and brother had taken leave of the room with Nemo, before the onslaught of remedy began its assault upon his back. He felt Emma grasp his hand and whisper words of comfort to him in response to the pained moans that escaped his throat.

Eyes shut tight, he tried to withdraw into himself. Tried to shut out all that was exterior to him, but a soft, humming melody tethered him to an unexpected refuge. The humming became a murmuring, and the murmuring became a quiet utterance of lyrical prose as the gypsy girl sang a soothing balm that washed over his senses. The burn of cleansing, the pull of needle and thread, the sting of ointment, and the chafing of fresh linens over raw skin dulled under the spell of Emma’s song. Her work complete, Emma’s mother withdrew from his room leaving him alone with the siren whose voice lulled him out of his pain and into the restful bliss of sleep.

* * *

_ “No! No, please. Don’t do this!” _

_ “Emma! Emma! Are you alright? What happened?” _

_ “He… He’s taking my place.” _

_ “What? What are you talking about? _

_ “Emma, the Bishop says you have sanctuary. You need to get back into the cathedral.” _

_ “No! This is all my fault! It should be me up on that platform!” _

_ His eyes were so blue. The whistle of the birch was so loud. The crowd was disgusting. Gold was evil. _

_ So blue. How could she see them so clearly even from this distance? _

_ His cry nearly made her knees buckle. His knees  _ did _ buckle. _

_ Her father’s hand on her shoulder. His quiet understanding. The sound of metal striking wood. Her father’s determined steps to the platform. Her mother’s protest. _

_ His listless body draped over her father’s shoulder. The marks of wrath upon his back. So red. Everything was red. His eyes were closed. She couldn’t see the blue, only red. _

_ Everything was red. _

Emma startled awake, the vestiges of her nightmare making her breath erratic. She groaned as she rolled onto her back, still on the floor under Killian’s bed. The room glowed from the soft beams of the setting sun and her breath caught at the effect it had on the mask peaking over the edge of the bed. The angles and etchings bounced light over the planes of the hardened face and Emma stared transfixed at the dazzling features that glimmered along the polished metal.

As the light continued to shift around her, Emma moved to position herself next to his bed so she could more fully take in the sight. New perspectives of the mask, and even the face beneath, began to focus themselves in her attentions. His lashes were long and dark, with brows that seemed to match in color. The same raven hue as the hair that whisped out from under the locking mechanism at the back of his head. Her attentions turned to the only other point in which his flesh could be seen under the metal and the golden tones of the dying light revealed an auburn coloring to the scruff outlining his mouth.

His lips were perfect. She’d thought so earlier, even as she had tried to stop staring at his mouth when he spoke. Tried not to fixate on the way his tongue would sweep over them, or how he’d pull at the bottom one with his teeth, or the lopsided way they’d offered her soft smiles. Smiles that crinkled at the corner of his eyes.

His eyes.

Those were perfect, too.

Her gaze continued over the contours of his shoulders and down the length of his arm hanging off the side of the bed. The same dark hue dusting his forearm and the back of his hand. Strength sat in the muscles under his skin, and even in her anguished state Emma had seen the evidence of that strength under the broad planes of his matte covered chest and pull of his biceps when he’d been suspended upon the platform. Stripped of his tunic, exposed and vulnerable, he’d displayed a strength few would have been capable of. Not of physical prowess, though his body certainly gave testimony to such an ability, but of steadfast resolve and determination in the face of trial and hardship.

A hardship she had brought upon him.

Emma felt the sting of pooling tears moments before they released themselves down her cheeks. With blurred vision she continued her survey and choked back the threatening sob as she took in the bandages seeped in blood and fluids that blanketed the expanse of his back.

She heard the door creak open and quickly wiped away the wetness lingering on her cheeks. Turning towards the door she saw her brother enter, a tray of food braced on his good arm.

“Nemo is sending Felix up soon,” Liam told her quietly as he set the tray down on the workbench. “The bishop suggested that he try and eat while the mask is off. You should come down and eat while he’s being tended to. Mother will look in on him again before we all turn in.”

“I’m going to stay with him,” Emma declared. “I’ll go and eat while Felix sees to him, but then I’m coming back up here to sleep. Do you think Nemo would have a cot or pallet brought up?”

“You can’t stay the night in here, Emma,” Liam hissed in whispered agitation.

“Why not? Someone should stay with him. What if he develops a fever, or needs assistance in the night?”

“Then let someone else see to it,” Liam argued. “It isn’t proper for you t-”

“Not proper?” Emma chortled in exasperation. “What exactly do you think will happen between me and a man so injured he can’t even sit up without bringing further harm to himself? Do you really think my virtue is at risk? Don’t be ridiculous, Liam.”

“It is not ridiculous for me to look out for you.”

“In this instance, it is.”

“No,” Liam grit out between clenched teeth. “It isn’t.”

Taken aback by her brother’s demeanor, Emma assessed Liam with fresh eyes. Tension rolled off of him in waves, and his senses seemed on alert as if expecting to be ambushed by the very contents of the room. It wasn’t like him to be terse with her. Sure, they argued as all siblings do, but he’d always had a soft spot for her. Had always been careful to protect her from his own temper and harsh words, shielded her as best he could from danger and discomfort. He looked out for all of them, taking his role of big brother and eldest child with extreme seriousness - to annoying degrees at times. Not that she could fault him. She knew that he felt guilty for being the only member of his first family to survive. The fear that he might lose the second was always snapping at his heels. Fear that made him act out of emotion, not logic - just as he was doing now.

“Liam, what aren’t you telling me?” Emma asked, a hint of accusation underpinning the question.

“Nothing,” he clipped.

“ _ Liam _ .”

“It’s nothing, Emma,” he tried to appease. “I just don’t like the idea of us all being trapped behind these stone walls.”

“We’re hardly trapped,” Emma muttered with a roll of her eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

Emma did know.

Liam and her parents had stayed in Misthaven for long months waiting for her to be born and then strong enough to travel. Though her parents never spoke of that time, Liam had been old enough to remember living within the underground tunnels beneath the city. It puzzled Emma as to why they’d had to remain in such accommodations, and the lasting effect of such an experience made Liam anxious about enclosed spaces.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” she offered.

“I’ll not leave you here alone,” Liam answered. “Or mother and father. Where one goes, we all go.” Some of his tension eased off as he gave her a small smile, even as  _ the big brother _ surfaced to add, “But I’ll not ask the bishop for a cot. I don’t like the idea of you sleeping in here. With him.”

“Fine,” Emma replied. “Then I’ll just have to ask the bishop myself.”

Liam muttered something that sounded like  _ bloody stubborn brat _ under his breath as he made his way back to the chamber door, closing it with a bit of force behind him.

“I don’t think your brother likes me very much.”

Killian’s raspy voice made Emma jump slightly, unaware that their discourse had woken him.

“Don’t mind, Liam,” she soothed. “He wouldn’t be doing his duty as older brother if he wasn’t trying to boss me around. I’m sorry we woke you.”

“It’s alright, lass,” he said, groaning as he tried to adjust his position upon the bed. Before Emma could try and offer assistance he continued, “He’s right, though.”

“About what?”

“You staying with me tonight. You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t go taking his side,” she teased. “I’ll think you like him better than you like me.” She flushed at the implication of her words, ducking her head as she felt a spiked flurry of nerves flutter through her chest and stomach.

He reached out and took her hand as he assured, “Not bloody likely. You’re far easier on the eyes than he is.”

Her small giggle bloomed into a full bellied laugh as she saw his own blush creep up his neck and crest at the tips of his ears, and she offered a smile of thanks at his effort to alleviate her momentary bashfulness. A condition she had never before experienced with any other man, but of course, he wasn’t like other men - and not just because of the mask he wore.

“If it isn’t too forward of me to mention,” he began hesitantly. “I noticed that there doesn’t seem to be much in the way of familial resemblance between you and your brother.”

“Liam isn’t actually my brother,” she explained, relieved to find themselves on a more neutral topic, or so she thought. “Well… he is, in all the ways that truly matter, but we aren’t related by blood. He was orphaned before I was born, and my parents took him in to raise as their own.

“He’s fortunate to have you all,” Killian affirmed, squeezing her hand as his eyes grew sad. “Not all orphans get so lucky.”

Emma worried at her lip, unsure if she should bring up the topic of his family in his current state, but curiosity would not be satisfied to wait. Taking her own turn at hesitancy she brought forth the matter as she stated, “Bishop Nemo mentioned that you were adopted by Gold.”  

“Aye. Technically, I am his son. But the man has never shown me any paternal regard. Nor has Neal ever demonstrated anything that could remotely be considered brotherly devotion. Unlike your Liam.”

Though there was an edge to his words he did not seem bothered by her questioning. He seemed to understand her curiosity, expected it perhaps. She hoped he knew that she didn’t see him as some oddity to examine. She’d have been interested in his upbringing even without the mask or evidences of cruelty upon him. A desire to learn all there was to know about him burned within her, and with the quiet encouragement expressed behind his too blue eyes she pressed on in her inquiry.

“How did you ever come to be a part of his household?”

“For some unknown reason Gold saved my life when I was no more than a babe after my mother abandoned me. I served as Neal’s whipping boy, only escaping that life six years ago when Nemo offered me a position here at the cathedral.”

He did not shy away from her questions. Though he did his best to spare her feelings, and his own shame of such treatment, he was honest with her about all he had suffered at Gold’s hand. Emma could not say which stoked her anger more, the idea that one could be so cruel as to heap such torment onto a helpless child, or that the child had grown into a man who believed himself deserving of such atrocities.

With the last of the sunset sinking below the horizon, Emma paused her queries to light the lanterns in his chamber. The forgotten tray on his workbench reminded her that Felix was supposed to be there tending to him.  _ Why had he not arrived yet? _

Though she was loathe to leave Killian’s side, Emma would be grateful for the moments of reprieve Felix’s presence would afford her. After everything Killian had shared with her about his past she needed time to quell her anger and relieve herself of the sorrow that ached within her chest. She knew he would not thank her for her pity, knew that he would need her strength and comfort to get through his convalescence. Comfort she now knew he had never been afforded by those who were suppose to care for him.

Care for him the way she did.

One short day had passed, and already she cared for this man. Her gentle stranger who had provided her sanctuary and sacrificed his own body for the provision of her pardon. A man whose perfect eyes and perfect lips expressed a reverence and sincerity she found to be a rarity in other men. A contradiction in terms as he fought with bravery and impassioned zeal on the behalf of others while resigning himself to a level unworthy of such regard.

It mattered not to Emma that his face would be forever cast in iron features, or that his body bore the scars of torment. She wanted to offer him the acceptance and affection he deserved. She knew first hand the sting of prejudice, gypsies weren’t favorably viewed in most of the kingdom’s provinces, but she’d always had her family, and the clans of other gypsy troupes that formed their tight knit community.

Who did he have?

He had the bishop, she knew, but there was only so much the man could offer. For all manner of acceptance and care the bishop had provided, Killian was still an outsider within the cathedral. Not a part of the holy order, and not welcome among the congregation. A man without a place to belong.

Could she provide him that place? A place among an outcast people who would accept him? A place among gypsies? With her?

With the last lantern lit, Emma stuttered her excuses to find Felix so that Killian may be afforded the opportunity to eat. She was barely able to register the concern in his eyes at her sudden urgency to leave when it shifted to a resigned melancholy. Overwhelmed as she may be by her rapidly growing feelings and considerations for him, she would not allow him to believe that she in any way wished to be rid of his presence.

Emma knelt down beside him and placed a light hand on his bare shoulder. A cascade of gooseflesh rippled out in all directions from the origin of her touch, including up her own arm, and both of their breathing hitched as their gazes locked with one another.  _ So blue _ , she thought as she wet her lips, the action of her tongue pulling his gaze to her mouth.

Would he be able to kiss her through the mask?

“Emma, I-” The chamber door swung open causing her to pull back. She hadn’t even realized how closely she’d leaned in towards him.

“Oh, my. I do hope I’m not interrupting.” The unwelcome voice of Killian’s brother echoed across the room and Killian stiffened under Emma’s hand. The hiss of pain at his reaction had Emma seeing red at the presence of Neal Gold.  _ How dare he come here after what he did! _

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” Emma snapped as she stood, shielding Killian lest his brother attempt to rain down more torment upon him.

“Why, I’ve come to check in on my brother, of course,” he replied, spinning something on a length of cord around his finger as he made his way into the room. 

Emma gasped as she realized what Neal possessed.

“The key.”

“I thought about what you said, sweetheart. About how I was partially to blame for the mishap at the festival earlier, and you were right. So, I thought to myself,  _ how could I make it up to my dear, ol’ brother _ , and well, I ran into Felix downstairs and thought, perhaps, I might tend to him in his hour of need as a way to make it up to him.”

“Make it up to him,” she parroted hollowly.

“Emma,” Killian called out hoarsely, the flare of pain causing his breathing to shallow.

“Make. It.  _ Up to him _ ?” Emma shouted. “Do you think I haven’t seen the scars? Do you think I don’t know he was your whipping boy? Make it up to him!?”

In her rage Emma was only vaguely aware of the hand grasping her wrist, keeping her from advancing on the vile excuse of a man.

“Emma!” Killian called again, the sob accentuating his words dousing her ire as she turned to him.

He had sat up. Had made an attempt to get up from his bed, pulling and straining the lacerations as he did so. Tears of agony slid from under his lids and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he tried wait out the pain.

“What have you done?” she chastised, more to herself than to him.

She knelt down before him, placed one hand at his knee while the other came to rest at his chest just over his heart. It hammered under her palm, and he brought his hand up to cover hers.

“It’s alright,” he grunted, meeting her burdened gaze with his own. “You should join your family and eat while he tends to my mask.”

“What?” Startled by his words, she looked up into his eyes, and could see the pleading desperation that was begging her to go.

“I know he’s only here to cause trouble, Emma,” he acknowledged, the pain from his exertions dropping his tone to a deep rumble. “But I won’t see you caught up in it. I can handle my brother. You should heed yours.”

“Killian, are you sure?” she pressed, reluctant to leave him vulnerable with the likes of Neal Gold.

“Aye. Go on, lass.” He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before removing it from his chest.

“Alright,” she agreed, standing once more. “But I’m sending my mother up here as soon as we’ve finished our meal so she can tend to you, and I  _ will _ be back to look after you tonight.”

“As you wish,” he whispered, a small smile pulling at his still pained lips.

Emma crossed the room and threw a glare at the insidious man as she passed. Stopping just beyond the threshold of his room, Emma turned and cast one last questioning glance at Killian who nodded reassuringly. Neal approached to close the door, offering her a wink before he shut and bolted it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, take another deep breath...
> 
> I know I've been very cruel to poor Killian thus far, but I promise that the neck deep angst won't last forever!
> 
> Much love to @ilovemesomekillianjones for be such an amazing beta. *muah*


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

His brother had never seen him without the mask. Before coming to the cathedral and having Felix tend to him, the task had only ever been performed by Gold himself. Killian could only speculate as to what Neal’s true motives were for being there - none of them good.

When Neal had first arrived, Killian had seen the rage that had sparked in Emma’s eyes. He feared that her fury would cause her to lash out at his brother, an action that wouldn’t be so easily pardoned. His gypsy girl may have been given reprieve for her defiance earlier, but that didn’t mean his father and brother couldn’t entrap her into greater trouble. Trouble he wouldn’t be able to protect her from. Trouble that would only serve to torment him.

He’d been careless in allowing them to see the depth of his feelings for her, for now they knew they could use her against him. He wouldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t allow them to set a trap for her, which was why he’d taken the drastic action he had. He was willing to tear open every wound, every scar, if it meant protecting Emma. Whatever his brother’s intentions he’d contend with them on his own in order to avoid any risk to her.

Still seated on the edge of his bed, Killian watched warily as Neal brought a chair over and sat it before him. He turned the key to the mask over in his hand, perhaps considering whether or not he truly wished to see what lay beneath it. Killian gingerly reached out and took it from his brother’s hand, grunting through the pain, he stretched his arm behind his head to place the key in the locking mechanism. The clink of its release echoed throughout the chamber and Killian kept his gaze fixed on Neal as he began to remove his metal covering.

His brother’s eyes went wide and his lips parted, a stunned expression beset his face as he stared. Suddenly, Neal stood in shocked recoil, his hand raised to cover his mouth as he turned and made his way out onto the balcony. Killian could see the shake of his shoulders and wondered if it was caused by shudders of revulsion or sobs of distress. Several moments passed before his brother made his way back into the room and sat himself upon the chair once more.

Averting his gaze from Killian’s face he asked, “What needs to be done?”

The throbbing ache of protest from his earlier exertions still coursed through him, compounded by the tense set of his demeanor as he’d awaited the mocking he’d been sure would come. The inquiry caught Killian off guard and it was his turn to momentarily stare in stunned silence before finding his voice to give instruction.

“The healer said there was blood on my neck,” he rasped, his breathing still too shallow from the pain to muster much volume. “She feared it might be coming from a wound beneath the mask. I believe it’s fine, but you’ll need to clean my face to make sure.”

As his brother wiped the grime and blood from his face and neck Killian could see Neal fighting with his own features. Attempts to hide some sort of expression with bites to his lip, cheek, and tongue. Was he trying to spare Killian from his looks of horror? He’d never known his brother to spare him in any regard, and Neal’s behavior only served to confound Killian as to the true purpose of his visit.

“Why are you here, Neal?” Killian finally questioned as his brother retrieved the food tray and set it before him. “It isn’t as if you actually care about my well-being, so why come and put yourself through the discomfort?”

“Of course I care,” Neal objected, occupying his attentions with Killian’s possessions and giving him little regard until he turned back and smirked, “I care about getting into your gypsy girl’s good graces.”

“Stay away from Emma,” Killian growled, anchoring himself to the edge of the bed in order to keep himself from lunging at his brother.

“Why? It’s not as if you have any chance with her,” Neal taunted. “She’s only sticking around because she pities you. Or maybe out of guilt? She did get you to take her punishment after all. Gypsies are known to be devious, and she sure charmed you into taking the lash on her behalf. Personally, I’d have rather seen her stripped and tied up than you, but I aim to get my chance at that pleasure.”

Blinding rage propelled Killian into an action his body was not capable of fully enacting. Lunging off the bed, Killian caught his brother around the waist and slammed him into the workbench behind him. Before he could raise himself up from his hunched position to administer the blows he wished to let loose upon his brother’s face, Neal put his full weight behind an expertly placed elbow to Killian’s lower back. Excruciating pain shot through him, stealing the breath from his lungs. He dropped to his knees, only to be kicked down the rest of the way to the floor by Neal’s boot between his shoulders.

Killian’s chest heaved for want of air, and he’d only been able to drag a full breath back into his lungs when he felt a harsh tug at his hair. His face lifted from the cold, stone floor by the pull at the back of his head and he saw the familiar inverse of his features as the mask was roughly placed back over his face and fastened securely in place. Neal released his grasp, and Killian thankfully had strength enough to keep his head from slamming back down onto the hard surface of the floor.

Gripping him from under his arms, Neal hoisted him back onto his bed with little finesse, positioning him on his stomach before crouching down beside him.

“Don’t worry about Emma,” Neal provoked. “After she’s done looking after you, I’ll be more than happy to take care of her in ways you never can. Rest up, dear brother.”

 

* * *

 

Emma’s skin crawled all throughout the meal, stomach churning at the worry of Killian being left alone with the man that had caused so much of his pain and trauma. She practically wept with relief when her mother announced that she was going to check in on Killian, believing that Neal had had enough time to tend to him.

Bishop Nemo had been wonderfully accommodating, arranging for a cot to be taken up to Killian’s quarters for her use. As Emma followed the monks who had been charged with the task of carrying it up to the tower chamber, she saw Neal descending the stairs. A sadistic looking smile stretched across his face, one he quickly schooled as he took notice of her.

“On your way back up to my brother?”

“Yes,” she clipped as she tried to continue past him.

“You know,” he said as he grabbed her arm to stop her, “I’m really not the bad guy you seem to think I am. It was difficult on both of us growing up in my father’s household.”

Emma wrenched her arm out of his grasp and took another step up the stairs before turning to look down at him. “And yet while the one who took the brunt of such hardship because of his affliction grew up to be a decent, kind, and gentle man, you became the vileness everyone claims lies beneath his mask.”

“I’ve just seen what lies beneath his mask, and my father was right to hide it away,” Neal countered back, his tone carrying a hard edge that matched the incensed countenance of his complexion.

“You mean… you’d never seen his face before?” she questioned, stunned all the more that Killian had succumbed to his brother’s  _ assistance. _

“No,” Neal answered. “And what I saw. Well, let’s just say I’ve never received such a shock in all my life. I hope you never have to endure the sight of it,” he added in a soft tone that spoke of a concern for her sensibilities, and one that rang as false as the smile he was offering up to her.

“It wouldn’t matter,” she stated emphatically. “Killian’s already shown me his true face, and it’s a right sight more appealing than yours.”

Emma turned and continued up the steps toward Killian’s chamber, impatient to be back by his side. The door opened as she approached, revealing her mother who wore a pensive and grieved expression upon her brow, causing Emma’s pulse to spike with worry.

“Mother? What it is?

Snow quickly resolved her features into a more neutral expression as she reassured, “Everything’s fine.”

Emma’s responding look must have clearly conveyed her lack of belief in her mother’s assurances, which had the woman confessing, “He reopened some of the wounds, but I’ve retreated him, and everything should be fine so long as he stays in bed.”

Emma let out a shaky sigh of relief and gave her mother a grateful smile as she moved to enter the chamber.

“Emma,” Snow fretted, drawing concerned attention once more.   

“Yes?” Emma prompted as her mother seemed to struggle with herself over whatever it was she wished to say.

“Nevermind,” she recanted. “It’s nothing. Get some rest and don’t hesitate to come for me if he seems to worsen overnight.”

Emma couldn’t help the nagging sensation that there was more going on than she was being told. Liam was tense and antsy all of sudden, her parents had been on edge since they’d arrived in the city, her father was withdrawn and overly quiet, and her mother had practically forbidden her father to assist Killian off of the platform; a lack of charity that was so unlike her.

Her family’s strange behavior plagued her mind as she readied herself for bed. She was  thankful for the nightclothes her mother had brought, and for the changing screen that afforded her some privacy so she wouldn’t have to leave him again. Based on his even breathing, Emma suspected Killian had already fallen back to sleep and she tried to ease herself onto the cot next to his bed as quietly as possible.

Before sleep overtook her she heard him whimper and reached over to place a soothing hand on his shoulder.

“Emma?” he questioned, voice thick with sleep and discomfort.

“Yes, Killian?”

“Will you… will you sing for me again?”

A smile tugged at her lips as she quietly sang a calming tune. He brought his hand up to take hold of hers and tucked their joined hands under his chin. As he drifted off to sleep once more Emma considered all that had occurred that day. As terrible as the events had been, she could not bring herself to completely resent their unfolding. For all its horrors, the day had brought her  _ him.  _ Her gentle stranger, the man beneath the mask, someone kind and caring. Brave and noble. Someone truly beautiful.

 

* * *

 

“Did you tell her?” Killian asked in hushed tones as Emma’s mother checked his dressings the next morning while Emma slept peacefully in the cot next to his bed.

“No. You asked me not to, didn’t you,” the woman replied.

When Emma’s mother had arrived to check in with him the night before, she had immediately seen the evidence of Neal’s actions, his boot having left a print upon the linen bandages. Killian had begged the woman not to tell Emma what had occurred between him and his brother, relaying his fear that it might goad her into rash action.

“I wasn’t sure you’d feel right keeping a secret from your daughter, especially at  _ my _ behest.”

“I know my daughter well enough to know that you were exactly right,” she offered. “If she knew what Neal Gold had done to you in such a state as this, she’d be reserving him a punch in the face for the next time she sees him. Which, unfortunately, may happen again before we leave.”

“Leave?”

“Of course. We’re traveler gypsies,” she explained. “We were only in Misthaven because of the festival. Once you’re well enough we’ll be off to the next one.”

Killian’s heart sank. He hadn’t realized that Emma and her family were not a part of the local gypsy troupe. It never occurred to him that she would leave regardless of the trouble the city might hold for them. He’d thought… he wasn’t sure what he’d thought, actually.

Emma’s mother collected the soiled bandages and other materials in order to take her leave, noting that her husband, or one of the monks, would be up soon to assist him with his more personal needs.

“Thank you, milady,” Killian replied softly, still not wishing to rouse Emma from her slumbers.

“Snow,” the woman responded.

Pardon?”

“You saved my daughter from a terrible fate. You get to call me Snow.” She patted his arm gently and gave him a warm smile before turning to leave, exiting just as Emma began to stir.

A smile twitched under the edges of his mask as he watched her. Little noises escaped her as she stretched and yawned, they settled around his heart as it swelled at the sight of her contented expression.

“Morning,” she offered through a partially stifled yawn, turning onto her side so she could face him better.

“Good morning. You just missed your mother,” he informed, and her expression grew pensive as her eyes narrowed with concern.

“Are you… is everything alright? I mean… how are you today?”

Killian reached over and grabbed her hand, squeezing it gently as he assured, “I’m as well as can be expected. Your mother said that everything looks just as it should for a proper healing.”

Emma let out a sigh of relief and graced him with another relaxed smile. Before anymore could be said between them her father entered the chamber, and Killian released Emma’s hand as she moved off the cot.

“Your mother said he might need some assistance with personal matters, and the morning meal is ready,” her father informed. “Why don’t you go down and get something to eat.”

Emma nodded at her father’s instruction, then gave Killian one last warm smile as she collected her things and left, promising to return after she’d broken her fast. Her father was quiet and distant as he assisted Killian into a position that allowed him to take care of those personal matters, as well as giving him the opportunity to change into clean garments; for his lower half anyway. As Emma’s father settled Killian onto his stomach once more, the man finally broke his silence.

“I should thank you,” he began gruffly, clearly uncomfortable with the situation he found himself in. “For what you did for Emma. I should thank you.”

“There’s no need,” Killian started to say in response, only to be quieted by the man’s raised hand.

“I  _ should  _ thank you,” he said again, an edge of bitter tension molding his words. “But I’m just so angry that she was put into that position in the first place that I... I...”

As much as it was possible while lying prone upon his bed, Killian ducked his head in shame. Of course the man would be angry at him. It was his fault Emma had gotten swept up in the trouble in the first place. She’d nearly been arrested. Even now she was at risk of being used as a pawn in his father’s sadistic game of torment and cruelty. The man was right. They should all leave Misthaven at once. Leave him and forget him.

“I’m her father,” the man continued in pained earnest. “It’s  _ my  _ job to protect her. I should have been there to stop her. I should have gone to that platform to aid you myself.”

Killian’s eyes snapped up to meet Emma’s father’s mournful gaze. Apology and regret flowed from their depths and Killian couldn’t quite process what the man was truly saying.

“It shouldn’t have been you or Emma to face Gold’s wrath. I should have done something. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Killian replied. “It wouldn’t have mattered. You don’t know my father.” He paused when he saw an unrecognizable expression pass over the man’s face, but then pressed on. “He was intent on punishing me for going out into the crowd, and no one would have been capable of stopping him from his demented motives.”

Emma’s father nodded silently as he contemplated Killian’s words. Kneeling down beside him, he offered his hand as he held firm to Killian’s gaze and said, “Thank you, Killian. Thank you for protecting my daughter when I didn’t.”

Killian took his proffered hand and shook it. “You’re welcome, mate.”

“David.”

“What?”

“A man who takes twenty lashes for my daughter gets to call me David.”

 

* * *

 

 

The next several days of Killian’s convalescence passed in much the same way as the first. Snow came in twice a day to check and redress his bandages, David assisted him with those personal tasks neither Emma nor her mother could help him perform, and his gypsy girl rarely left his side. 

Emma regaled him with tales of their travels, painting wondrous illustrations with her words upon his mind’s canvas of far off lands with strange customs and even stranger people. Places and people he was likely never to see, but knew that Emma and her family would make their way back to once his convalescence came to an end. A sadness he tried desperately not to dwell on.

Her parents did their best to assist in keeping his spirits up. Snow would add to Emma’s stories, and he and David would discuss the craft of bladesmithing, but Killian could sense their restlessness with each passing day. They seemed just as eager to leave Misthaven as they had been that first day, more so even, and he couldn’t help the melancholy that had started to settle over him as the days towards that impending event ticked past.

Five days after the administered punishment in the square, Killian was finally strong enough to leave the tower room. With the aid of Emma, he made the long journey from his room to the forge at the back of the cathedral. He wanted to spend time out of doors and felt the secluded area behind the building was the safest option. None of the monks, save Nemo, ever came out to the back courtyards that encompassed the forge, and no one in the congregation was permitted.

As they had made the arduous trek through the expansive cathedral, Killian had started to lean into Emma’s assisting arms more and more, his strength waning at the exertion. Having finally made it to the back courtyard, Emma led him to one of the stone benches. She set him down upon its hardened surface and then joined him, threading her arm through his as she gingerly leaned against his side, her head resting upon his shoulder.

Killian still marveled at his gypsy girl. Where he had first been struck by her beauty, it had not taken him long to see that her true worth lay beneath her radiant exterior. She had displayed her kindness and fierceness that first day, but in the time that had followed he’d become acquainted with her wit and intelligence as well. They had talked well into the dark hours most nights, discussing everything from theology to literature to social issues within the kingdom. While she could be just as tenacious with her opinions as she had been with her actions that fateful first day, Killian had also experienced what he could only presume was, a rare privilege in witnessing her vulnerability as well.

Her life had not been without its own measure of trials and suffering. Persecution and prejudice from those who believed gypsies were an untrustworthy or unholy sect. Loneliness that had come from a lack of friendships due to their nomadic lifestyle. Lewd and salacious advances her father and brother had thankfully been able to protect her from, which stole her innocent outlook far too early in life, leaving her to feel sullied despite the fact that she was untouched.

An admission that had caused a blush so apparent that he could see it upon her features even in the soft moonlight filtering into his room.  

A blush he soon donned in matching fashion as he shared his own inexperience, confessing that before her, he had never even been touched by a woman, in any capacity, before.

Many of their conversations had left him stirred in thought, but that one had left him stirred in a completely different regard. One that held  _ firm  _ well into the morning, causing him a different kind of discomfort than his back subjected him to and had him praying for its subsiding before either of her parents made an appearance.

In the days since he’d first met Emma and her family, Killian had found himself in the company of people he felt truly accepted by. Well, all except her brother, Liam. Killian had only seen the man one other time after that first day. He’d come in to assist Killian with personal matters one morning when David had been unavailable. The man had said little, a cold and distant countenance that Killian was all too familiar with settled over them as the tasks were completed. Killian said nothing of it to Emma, not wishing to cause anymore strain between the two, but couldn’t help the sting of repudiation he’d felt over the man’s behavior. Accustomed to it, though he was.

He and Emma sat upon the stone bench within the back courtyard, soaking up the morning sun, and allowing the soft breeze to wrap them into a cocoon of serenity. He never wanted to leave this moment. Never wanted to let go of the hope and promise Emma had brought into his life. He longed to hold onto the possibility that life could supply him with more than torment or shame, that he could be more than an abhorrence behind a mask, could offer something other than a brunt of punishment, could be seen as someone who might be worthy of acceptance. Worthy of belonging. Worthy of love.

But was he?

Did he have a right to hope for such things?

Emma seemed to think so; the acceptance and belonging, anyway. He’d never dare to dream that she could love him.

As he loved her.

He knew she cared for him, as did her mother and father, but her love was meant for someone worthy of it. Someone that could elevate her life, bringing a richness and fulfillment that he did not believe himself capable of providing. Such knowledge did not dissipate the ache of longing in his heart, though, and Killian endeavored to cherish these quiet moments afforded to him before they would be lost to him forever.

The clanging sounds of the forge brought both him and Emma out of their reveries, and they went to investigate what David might be working on. As they rounded the corner that brought the forge into view, Killian saw an unknown man with a small boy conversing with Emma’s father. Emma tugged at his hand, bringing him forward for an introduction when their presence had been spotted.

“Killian. I’d like you to meet Robin Locksley, and his son Roland, of the Mills clan. Robin. This is Killian.”

“Ah, yes,” the man greeted amicably, “the man who laid my well planned escape route to waste when he brought you to the cathedral instead of the alleyway.” He smiled broadly as he offered Killian his hand, which Killian accepted as the man’s words began to sink in.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you already had a means of escape?” Killian questioned, turning back towards Emma in his inquiry after Robin released his hand.

“What? And deprive you of your dashing rescue?” she answered coyly with a bright smile that had Killian flushing red to the tips of his ears, earning him a jovial chuckle from Robin and David.

“Seriously, though,” Robin began again, “it is a pleasure to meet you, mate. We can’t thank you enough for what you did. The Nolans are like family to our clan, and Emma’s a sister to us all. You’ve our thanks.”

The man had rendered him speechless. All Killian could offer was a lopsided smile of gratitude he doubted could even be interpreted as such beneath his mask. He was saved from having to actually vocalize a response by a tug at his pant leg. The young boy was trying to gain their attention so Robin scooped him up into his arms to bring him to eye level.

Killian held his breath in anticipation of the lad’s reaction. He had little experience with children, and what few encounters he’d had were less than… pleasant. Usually they ended with the young child screaming, and running for the safety of their parent at the very sight of him. Killian had learned to prepare himself for just about anything when it came to children, but this child’s response caught him completely by surprise. Instead of recoiling, the boy reached out for him. Instead of Robin sweeping his son away from the  _ Masked Monster’s  _ presence, he offered Killian the opportunity to take the lad into his own arms.

Killian continued to stand there stiffly, he didn’t know what to do. He’d never held a child before. What if he broke it?

Fortunately, Emma came to his rescue, as she had been prone to do from the moment of their meeting.

“Sorry, Roland. That’s probably not a good idea. Killian’s getting better, but his back isn’t completely healed yet.”

Right. Of course. His back. Killian found himself simultaneously relieved for the plausible excuse for not taking the child into his arms, and bereaved at the thought that his one opportunity to ever do so may have just passed him by.

The boy’s face fell a bit, and Killian’s mouth began to act on its own accord as the words, “I could do a trick for you, though. If you’d like?” bounded off his tongue before his mind had a chance to comprehend them.

The boy, Roland, beamed at the offer of entertainment, and Killian couldn’t suppress his own smile at the sight. Looking around the forge Killian found three blades that would serve his purposes, and positioned them within his hand, readying them to juggle. He gave Robin a warning to step back, and was just about to toss up the first blade when a thunderous voice boomed across the courtyard.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Liam?” Emma exclaimed, bewilderment at her brother’s harsh tone etched across her face.

Liam stalked towards Killian and wrenched the blades from his hands, a murderous glare in his eyes that had Killian stumbling back from his menacing presence.

“Don’t you think you’ve caused us enough trouble?” Liam question with fierce accusation. “It isn’t enough to put my sister in danger? Now you’d risk the wellbeing of child?”

“Liam!” David admonished, stepping forward to confront his son.

Killian felt Emma’s hand on his arm, could feel her concerned gaze, but couldn’t muster the courage to look anywhere but at the ground before him. He’d wondered when it would happen. Wondered when they’d realize he wasn’t worth their kindness or consideration, that he’d only bring trouble down upon them. He’d hoped the realization wouldn’t come, but it seemed Liam knew better.

“We shouldn’t still be here,” Liam continued. “We should have left Misthaven days ago. We should leave now! He’s obviously well enough. I don’t know why we even stayed in the first place!” he railed, shouting over Emma, David, and Robin’s protests. “He’s not even gypsy!”

“You’re right,” Killian replied, silencing the crowd before him, each of them gawking at his response. “I’m not gypsy, and I’m well on my way to being recovered, thanks to your mother’s kind ministrations. You should all prepare your leave. You’ve stayed long enough, and there isn’t… there isn’t anything of worth keeping you here any longer.”

Killian made his way back towards the courtyard, ignoring Emma’s pleas for him to  _ wait _ and  _ come back _ . He’d been selfish long enough. They all had their own lives to get back to, and the sooner they did that the better. Emma and her family were in a precarious position because of their association with him; a fact he’d warned her parents about over the past several days. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to one them. Best they go and forget him.

 

* * *

 

Emma had never been angrier at her brother. She knew being in Misthaven was difficult for him, knew that he was struggling with the memories of his family, which were only exacerbated by the presence of a man who shared the same name as the brother that was lost to him. She knew that. It didn’t stop her from wanting to slap his hurtful words to Killian right off his lips, though. 

She tried to follow Killian back into the cathedral, only to be stopped by her father and Liam.

“Emma, wait,” her father urged. “Give your brother a chance to apologize.”

Emma and Liam’s responses were simultaneous.

“Apologize?!”

“I’m not the one to whom he owes an apology!”

“The man was about to throw knives into the air, Emma! Did you really expect me to stand by and allow someone else to get hurt?”

Emma could only stare dumbfounded at her brother for his ludicrous reasoning. Did he really think Killian would willingly put any of them in danger?

“You are being ridiculous, Liam!” she admonished, and by the chagrined look on his face, he knew it, but that didn’t stop her from telling him exactly how she felt about his behavior and attitude over the course of the past several days. “I know you don’t like to talk about it, but what happened to your parents and brother isn’t Killian’s fault. And yes, you got injured at the festival, but it pales in comparison to what he has endured, and as for not being gypsy?” Emma could feel the sting of tears pooling in the corner of her eyes. “I don’t care. What he’s done for me, I can never repay, and I’m not just talking about the lashings. You should be ashamed of yourself, Liam. He may not be gypsy, but he’s no different than any of us. Not to me, anyway.”

Emma pushed past her brother and father (Robin must have excused himself from their quarrel at some point), and made her way back to Killian’s room, finding him perched on the balcony ledge.

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll fall?” she asked quietly as she made her way out onto the balcony.

He merely shrugged in response, and she heard him grunt at the effect the movement had on his still healing wounds. She brought herself to stand beside where he sat, looking out over the square. His despondent spirit hung between them, battered and bruised every bit as much as his body, and Emma tried to quell the anger that still spiked within her at her brother’s careless words.

Nemo had said that Killian was in better spirits these past several days than he’d seen in a long time, if ever, despite the pain and discomfort of his convalescence. Emma couldn’t bear to see him return to the state of melancholy, or self-doubt and depreciation he’d displayed when they’d first met. He had so many wondrous qualities, and though she knew he’d suffered years of cruel torment and poisonous words of contempt and calumny, she wished that he could see himself as she did. A man who was so much more than the mask he wore.

A man who was kind, and funny. Witty and thought provoking. Skilled in talents that she marveled at again and again as she assessed the work of his hands displayed around his chambers. Intuitive and patient. A man who made her feel like she was maybe more than the mask _she_ wore. Hers may not be as apparent, but it was still there. A mask of confidence and duty that disguised her own vulnerability and self-doubt. One that hid the truth of longing she felt at the prospect of settling in one place. Planting roots and establishing relationships outside her clan. A scandalous dream for a gypsy, but one she desired in earnest, and never more so than this past week.

Emma shook off her own musings and focused on the man beside her. Liam’s words had cut him, and though it should be her brother offering up apology, Emma would not allow his offense to stand.

“I’m sorry for Liam,” she began softly, her gaze still fixed on the square below. “He isn’t usually like that, but being here has been diffi-”

“You don’t have to explain, Emma,” Killian interrupted gently. “I understand Liam’s concern. I’m worried about your continued presence as well. I don’t want any of you to suffer at my father’s hand because of me.” Killian swung a leg back over the ledge, straddling the wall as he turned to face her. “I don’t judge Liam too harshly. Most can’t see past the mask, and I know how uncomfortable my appearance makes people. It’s only natural that the nature of what I am would intensify his feelings of unease at be-”

“It’s not any of that, Killian,” Emma assured, taking his hand as she sighed in confession, “it’s your name.”

Killian cocked his head to one side, and if she could have seen beneath metal she was sure his brows would be furrowed, or perhaps lifted in arched perplexity.

“Well that’s a new one,” he reflected. “I don’t think I’ve ever offended anyone with just my name before.” His words were edged with a hint of jesting that brought a small smile to her lips, relieved that some of his earlier brooding had dissipated. “What about my name?” he prompted, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over her knuckles as his forget-me-not eyes searched hers in a willingness to understand.

Emma swallowed away the distraction, clearing her throat and taking a deep breath before beginning her explanation.

“Liam didn’t just lose his parents when he was orphaned. He had a brother, too. A brother named... Killian.” She felt his grip on her hand tighten slightly at the admission. “He died at the same time as their parents.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, struck by the realization that she lacked those details. She’d asked before, but her parents had always expressed that the memory was too painful to retell. Liam wasn’t much help either. She’d always assumed he’d blocked out the memory in order to protect himself from the pain.

“It all happened before I was even born,” she continued, “but I imagine hearing the name is difficult for Liam so he-”

“He’s a bloody prat who owes you an apology,” her brother’s voice echoed out to the balcony. Killian let go of her hand as he made his way back over the ledge to stand before her brother who approached them hesitantly.

“I’m sorry, K-Killian,” he stammered, his voice thick with an emotion Emma had never experienced from her brother.

“It’s alright, mate,” Killian offered, but Liam waved off the excusal.

“No, it isn’t. I’ve been a moody arse with you, I was out of line, and I’d like a chance to explain myself, if you’ll allow me.”

Emma took back Killian’s hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze as he nodded at her brother to continue.

“My father,” he began, glancing at Emma as he clarified the designation. “My actual father, Brennan Jones, made blades like David does, but he also did all manner of tricks with them.” Emma’s chest tightened and she tried to blink back the tears forming at her lashes. She’d never heard Liam speak of Brennan before, and she couldn’t imagine how difficult the moment was for him. “I wanted to learn how to juggle them, like he did. Once, as I was practicing, I lost control of a blade and it hit my little brother. Sliced his cheek open. Fortunately, our mother had some skill in healing and was able to patch him up, it left a scar though. It’s one of the last memories I have of him. So when I saw you about to juggle those blades for Roland...”

“It triggered the memory,” Killian finished.

“I haven’t thought of my brother in a long time. I try not to think about any of them,” Liam confessed guiltily. “They died here, you know. Almost twenty years ago. But being here makes me feel like it was only yesterday. And having your name… his name, repeated over and over, well I…”

Killian stepped forward and placed a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “It’s alright, mate,” he repeated. “I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like. I have no memory of a family other than Gold. I sometimes wonder if there isn’t a blessing in that. Having no memory of people to actually miss.”

“No,” Liam countered. “I wouldn’t trade my memories of them for anything. And being here has actually awoken ones I’d long since forgotten.” Emma could see a shadow of grief pass over her brother’s face and wondered which memories he spoke of.

“Providence granted me a fresh start with a mother, father, and sister I love dearly, and I know how lucky I am in that regard,” he said pointedly at Killian, “but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish to have any part of my family back. My mother, or my father, or m-my brother,” Liam choked out with a quiet sob.

Emma could hold back her tears no longer as she watched Killian wrap his arms around her brother, allowing the man to relieve his anguish against the shoulder of his tunic.

“He was fortunate to have you,” Killian murmured. “What I wouldn’t give to have my brother care for me as you did for yours. As you do for Emma.”

Liam collected himself, wiping the evidence of his emotion from his eyes as he straightened himself into a more composed stance. He took another moment before facing Killian, stretching out his arm to place it on Killian’s shoulder as he fixed him with a firm gaze.

“We are fortunate to have you,” he declared. “I can never repay what you did for Emma. None of us can.”

“You don’t have to,” Killian insisted. “I don’t regret what I did, and I would do it again for her. For any of you.”

“Then I was wrong before,” Liam yielded. “You are gypsy.”

Not even the thick plate of metal could conceal the radiant smile Liam’s approval brought to Killian’s face. He gave a small chortle of wonder as Liam clapped him on the shoulder and invited him back down to the courtyard.

“I believe you owe Roland a demonstration of your knife juggling skills,” he reminded as the two made their way off the balcony. Killian glanced over his shoulder at her, inquiring with his eyes if she meant to follow. She gave him a small nod as she heard her brother question, “Perhaps you could teach me how? I haven’t attempted it since they died, but I think I’d like to keep the tradition alive.”

“Of course, mate,” Killian agreed enthusiastically as they exited the room, both completely unaware of David’s presence as the man stood against the wall just inside the room from the balcony, a pleased smirk set upon his lips.

“How long have you been there?” Emma questioned with mocked accusation, her hands at her hips in an admonishing fashion.

“Long enough,” he hedged. “I’m pleased to see those two made amends.”

“So am I,” she agreed, following him toward the door of the chamber as she chewed on something that had been niggling at her.

“Papa? Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“How did Killian, Liam’s Killian, die?” Emma worried at her lip, her father’s startled and pained expression making her second guess her inquiry.

David let out a resigned sigh as he answered, “I suppose it’s only natural that you’d be curious about it given what Liam just professed, but the truth is, Emma. I don’t know.”

Emma’s brows jumped at the unexpected admission. “What do you mean? How could you not know?”

Emma had always assumed that it had been sickness, or some sort of tragic accident that had claimed Liam’s family. Never would she have guessed there to be an element of mystery or uncertainty in how they all met their fate.

“It’s a long story, Emma,” he skirted. “And a terrible one. You don’t need all the details. Just know that I witnessed Brennan’s death, and we searched several days for Amelia and Killian before news reached us that an unknown woman and child had been buried here in the cathedral cemetery.”

Wild speculation sparked within Emma as she weighed the possible implications of her father’s words.

“Killian was abandoned twenty years ago,” she stated. “Is it possible? It’s not a very common name. I’ve never met another Killian before. Maybe he wasn’t abandoned like they thought. Maybe he’s-”

“Emma listen to me,” her father demanded, interrupting her exuberant babbling over the idea that her Killian could be Liam’s Killian.

“That man is not Killian Jones,” he stated emphatically.

“But how can you be sure?”

“Our Killian had no need for a mask. His face was perfect.”

Emma had completely forgotten about the mask, so accustomed to seeing past it when she regarded Killian either in person or in thought. Of course, he wasn’t the Killian lost to them all those years ago. Lost before she was even born. She felt foolish for even considering the possibility. Her parents would have never left Misthaven if there was even a doubt that little Killian might still be out there. As outstanding a coincidence as it was that a man orphaned twenty years before would share an unusual name with a boy lost forever at the same time, in the same place, that seemed to be all it was. An outstanding coincidence.

_ A coincidence, perhaps, but not without a touch of fate, _ Emma mused as she joined her father, Robin, Roland, and others who had gathered to watch the display of talent showcased within the back courtyard.

Misthaven may have taken something precious from her family all those years ago, but it seemed that providence was offering something precious back to them. And this time… this time, when they would have to leave Misthaven, Emma would make sure that Killian was counted among their number.

Her Killian.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The chill of the day began to lift with the welcomed appearance of the afternoon sun within the back courtyard. Killian found himself at the forge with David, beginning to take on more of his duties again now that he was on the mend, watching Emma and young Roland chase one another around the grassy area on the far side of the yard.

It had been ten days since the gypsies had entered his life. Ten days since his entire world had changed. Ten days since the deepest yearnings of his heart had begun to manifest themselves in the presence and acceptance of an extraordinary woman and her family.

And in a matter of days, they would be gone.

None of them had said as much, but with him returning to his duties and his wounds nearly healed, what reason would they have to stay? As much as he’d like to believe the voice of hope in the back of his mind that said, _him_ , Killian knew that even if that were true, he couldn’t allow it. They’d all pressed their luck remaining as long as they had. He’d half expected his father or brother to make another troublesome visit by now, but neither had set foot in the cathedral since that first day and evening. The sooner Emma and her family left the city, the better for them all.

 _But maybe not for a few more days yet,_ he thought to himself selfishly.

David declared that they should take a break from the heat of the forge, and while the older man made his way into the cathedral to check in with his wife, Killian moved closer to where his gypsy girl and the boy were still playing. Leaning against the stone wall under the shade of the building, Killian crossed his arms and ankles. The sight before him caused relaxation to wash over him, and a smile grazed the interior of his metallic lips in response to Emma’s laughter and Roland’s giggles.

“You should tell her, you know,” Robin stated, surprising Killian as he came up beside him, settling himself against the wall to watch the spectacle as well.

“Tell her what?”

“That you love her.”

“I… uh, I,” Killian stuttered, straightening off the wall with nervous tension at the man’s summation. “What? How do y-”

Robin laughed at Killian’s flustered response and said, “It’s as plain as the mask on your face, mate.”

“Funny.”

“And true,” Robin affirmed pointedly as Killian settled himself back against the wall. “You should tell her.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? She loves you, too, you know?”

Killian’s heart swelled painfully at his words, hope rising within him even as he denied it. “No. She doesn’t. She can’t. I’m-”

“She does,” Robin insisted, placing a hand on Killian’s shoulder to add further weight to his words.

“She shouldn’t,” Killian muttered softly, turning from the encouraging look his new friend was offering.

“You’re infuriating, you know that?” Robin exasperated.

“What could I possibly offer her?” Killian countered, turning back toward the man, an edge of temper creeping into his words.

“Love,” Robin began earnestly, “provision, care, companionship, family.”

“I can’t give her that,” Killian replied sadly.

“What?”

“A family. Children,” Killian clarified, heat working its way up his neck in response to the subject at hand. “I don’t think I can even kiss her through this mask. How could I ever provide her with the intimacy required for children.”

A wide grin broke out across Robin’s face as he quipped, “You don’t have to kiss to be intimate, mate.” A wink added for good measure.

“What woman would ever want to be intimate with someone like me?” Killian lamented.

The sounds of laughter grew louder and both men turned their attention to the now approaching Emma and Roland.

“That one would,” Robin answered with a nod in Emma’s direction. “You should tell her.”

 

* * *

 

It was nice to see him so relaxed. Just casually reclined against the cathedral wall, conversing with Robin as if they’d known one another for years. Over the past several days Emma had witnessed an outstanding transformation in Killian, one that filled her with a sense of pride and happiness.

Gone was the tension and nervous strain, the hesitant self-doubt that had permeated his demeanor when they’d first met. His eyes sparkled a bit brighter, his mouth more often pulled into a smile with an infectious laugh spilling from it. It warmed her spirit to see him more accepting of the kindness and inclusion she, her family, and her gypsy brethren offered him, and it gave her hope that it might be enough to persuade him to leave with them when the time came.

She hadn’t broached the topic with her parents or Liam as of yet, but could not see them objecting to the idea. Surely they would be inclined to agree that they could offer him a more suitable way of life than that which Gold had shackled him with. Gypsy life might not be easy or free of its own set of trials, but it would likely be a type of utopia to Killian after all he had endured.

Perhaps she would discuss it with them that evening. Killian was very nearly recovered, and she knew her mother and father were anxious to be on the road once more. It was only a matter of days now, and she wasn’t sure what arrangements Killian would feel obligated to make before leaving his post at the cathedral, he might need that time to prepare for the departure. That settled things in Emma’s mind. She’d bring up the matter with her family that evening, and tell Killian the good news before day’s end.

As she and Roland approached the two men a tinge of red upon Killian’s neck and ears caught her eye. She wondered what the two had been discussing as Roland scampered up to them, locking his arms around Killian’s legs.

“Hello there, lad,” Killian greeted, another marked difference the past few days had brought, Emma noted as she watched Killian gingerly lift Roland into his arms. “What sort of mischief have you and the fair maiden been up to?”

“Mischief?” she questioned with mocked offense.  She saw the shimmer of something warm and pleasant glistening in his forget-me-not eyes as she came to stand before him. “How could you possibly accuse me of mischief? I am a saint I’ll have you know.”

“More like an angel,” he reverenced softly, making her heart flutter as a warmth crept up her own neck.

“Well, I’ve had about all of that I can stand,” Robin teased, reaching out to take his son from Killian. “Come, Roland. Let’s leave these two love birds to their twitterpattence.”

He flashed them both a smug grin before he turned, leaving them both staring wide-eyed and slack jawed after him before turning back to one another and dipping their heads bashfully in tandem. They shared furtive glances and shy smiles for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say, before her father appeared and called Killian back to their previous task.

“I, um… I’ll let you get back to your duties. Don’t let Papa work you too hard. You’re still… still healing,” she stammered slightly, taking a tentative step back so he could make his way past.

He reached out and grasped her hand, soothing both their flustered hearts with a caress of his thumb over her knuckles.

“I promise to take it easy,” he replied, his gaze flickering up towards hers as he added, “I’ll see you later… love.”

Emma let out a stuttered breath at the endearment before pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to keep herself from grinning like a fool. Killian seemed to feel no need for such recourse as he grinned unabashedly at her, gently squeezing her hand before releasing it and joining her father at the forge.

As she watched him go, the courage of his action overwhelmed her. She knew it wasn’t just an endearment, but rather, a declaration. One she’d wanted to make numerous times over the past week, but had held back. Worried that it would be too much for him to accept, and unsure if she could face the rejection his low self worth would unintentionally suggest, she’d focused on conveying her feelings through actions rather than words.

Now here he was, surprising her again with that strength and courage he probably didn’t even recognize in himself. Offering her the words she’d been too afraid to utter, and revealing not only the hope that she might feel the same, but that he just might feel worthy of it.

She now had one more bit of happy news to share with him later that evening.

Emma didn’t think anything could pull the smile from her lips as she made her way back into the cathedral towards the tower steps. That was until she heard the unwelcome greeting from behind her.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

Emma turned, a scowl replacing the smile Killian had placed upon her lips, and her scowl deepened all the more at the thought that this man had taken something that Killian had given her.

Neal Gold stood before her with a bouquet of flowers held out in offering. Emma glared at the blooms before her then set her ire upon the man, it wasn’t the poor flowers fault that they had found themselves in the hands of such a distasteful suitor.

“You know,” he began, a seemingly friendly expression upon his face that was pointedly ignoring her cold response, “it’s customary to accept a gift when it’s offered.”

“And it’s considered rude to go where you are not welcomed,” she replied, still not taking the flowers.

“It’s a church, sweetheart. All are welcome here.”

“You know what I mean,” she snapped impatiently. “What do you want?”

“What I want,” he began as he gave her a salacious look, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip before continuing, “is for you to join me for dinner tomorrow.”

“You can’t possibly be this delusional,” she exasperated.

Her words caused his smug smile to vanish.

“Delusional?” he echoed back with furrowed brows. “We may have gotten off on the wrong foot, sweetheart, but if you think my brother can offer you more than I can, then you’re the delusional one.”

“Offer me what, exactly?” she sassed.

“I’m the Governor's son and heir,” he touted pompously. “I have wealth and power. Prestige and position.”

“And if you knew me at all you’d know that I don’t care a whit about any of that.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “What woman doesn’t want to be surrounded by comfort, on the arm of an important man?”

“This one,” Emma clipped.

“You’d rather be associated with a freak.” The _k_ cracked along his tongue sending a surge of rage rushing through her.

“Don’t call him that!”

“I don’t get it,” he continued, brushing off her anger as if her feelings about his words had no merit, which, of course, to him, they didn’t. “What could you possibly see in my brother that makes him more appealing than me? Or are you just pretending to care for him because you know it’ll make me jealous. Is that your game?”

“I’m not playing any games,” she seethed between grit teeth. Her fists balled at her sides even as she tried to maintain control of her temper. Killian had warned her what could happen if she allowed Neal to provoke her into striking him.

“Sure you are. All women play games,” he said with a laugh. “But we both know how this one is going to end, so why bother fighting it?”

“And how do you think this is going to end, exactly?”

Neal advanced so suddenly that Emma couldn’t help but take a startled step back, hitting the wall behind her. Neal pressed in against her hands that she’d brought up in an attempt to keep him at a distance.

“Why… in my bed, of course,” he murmured lecherously.

“I was right,” she grimaced, disgust lacing her words. “You are delusional.”

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart,” he smugged, an air of menace washing over his words and demeanor. “Keep on playing your little game with my brother, but don’t keep me waiting too long or I just might decide to join in the fun. And I play rough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her intended tone of challenge losing some of its force with the knot of dread forming in her stomach.

“It means,” he began darkly, “now that my dear brother is on the mend, it would be a shame if he sustained another injury. One that he wouldn’t be able to bounce back from so quickly.”

“I won’t let you hurt him,” she declared, her protective instincts sparking a fresh fire within her.

“Then have dinner with me tomorrow,” he demanded.

Emma was about to rebuff him once more when she heard her name being called out from around the corner, the sound of which made Neal take a step back to a more suitable distance.

“Oh!” exclaimed Snow as she rounded the corner and saw the both of them at the far end, “I’m sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Emma clipped angrily, raising her chin in defiance as she further stated, “we’re done here.”

She turned to make her way to her mother at the end of the corridor, but was stopped by Neal’s grasped on her elbow.

“I’ll send for you tomorrow at seven,” he murmured into her ear, his tone low enough that her mother wouldn’t be able to overhear. “Wear your dance costume. I believe you owe me a private show.”

Emma wrenched her arm out of his grasp and glared at him. He bowed to her as if he were a gentleman and set the bouquet upon a side table as he made his way out.

At the end of the hall he turned back to add, “Oh, and if you decline, I’ll simply have to take it up with my brother when he reports for Sunday luncheon. I’d hate to think of my father’s reaction when he learns Killian has been monopolizing the time of the woman I’m courting.” He shot her a dark smirk before finally taking his leave, and Emma had to take several deep breaths to fight back the bile that was rising in her throat.

She could barely comprehend anything her mother was saying to her, a million thoughts swirling through her mind at what had just transpired. What was she going to tell Killian? _Should_ she tell Killian? What would he do in response to his brother’s threats? He was barely even healed from his last encounter with Gold.

“Emma? Snow?” She heard her father calling, only just realizing that he and her brother had come in from their duties.

“David, thank goodness,” Snow began as she took hold of Emma’s hand and brought her to stand within the small circle of her family. “We cannot delay any longer. We have to leave Misthaven.”

“Why?” Liam questioned. “What’s happened.”

“Neal Gold is what’s happened,” Emma supplied in revulsion.

“He was just here, demanding Emma’s company tomorrow evening,” Snow explained to the men, both of whom now wore thunderous expressions at the news.

“Well that’s settled then,” David replied. “We leave in the morning.”

All seemed to be in agreement, compelling Emma to profess, “I want Killian to come with us.”

“Emma,” her mother began hesitantly, “you know that isn’t possible.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s Gold’s son, that’s why not,” David answered.

“We can’t just leave him here,” Emma argued. “He isn’t even fully healed.”

“He’s healed enough,” Liam replied. “He’ll do just fine without us now.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Emma fumed. “How can any of you be okay with just leaving Killian here, knowing what he’s endured at Gold’s hand? What he still might endure.”

An entire conversation seemed to pass between her parents and her brother. A conversation, she realized, they had all been privy to without her during the course of the past ten days.

“What’s really going on?” Emma demanded. “There’s more to this than Neal Gold’s sudden infatuation. I want to know why you have all been acting strangely. Tell me.”

Her father let out a heavy sigh as her mother closed in to his side, wrapping a comforting arm around his waist.

“Emma,” her father responded, a heaviness of sorrow settling over him. “Twenty years ago, Gold murdered our entire clan. He blamed your grandmother for the death of his wife, and issued a death sentence over us all. Your mother and I, along with the Joneses, were able to escape the initial massacre, but were betrayed by the oarsman we’d hired to bring us to Misthaven. Gold ambushed us as we were making our way to the cathedral seeking sanctuary. Brennan and I fought off the soldiers as your mother and Amelia tried to escape with the boys. Brennan died saving my life, and Amelia and Killian were lost to us that same night. Gold has continued to hunt us ever since, and if he were to discover who we truly were, it would mean our death.”

Emma listened intently, allowing the words to seep into her as she tried to wrap her mind around the tale her father was telling. They had kept this a secret her whole life. Offering excuse after excuse as to why they never wished to stop at the festivals of Misthaven, why they never visited the Mills clan before. Now she understood how deeply the bond between her parents and the Mills actually ran. The local clan had taken such a risk in harboring them all those months, even if it was what gypsy code demanded of them.

“Did you know any of this?” she asked her brother, who had remained silent.

“Not until the day of the festival,” he answered. “After the edict for your arrest had been made, and Killian brought you here for sanctuary. They told me everything while we waited for news.”

Emma could only nod at his confession. It explained his strained behavior those first few days of Killian’s convalescence.

“So you can see why it is imperative that we leave,” Snow continued.

Emma did see. She understood the true danger Neal’s attention brought them, but it didn’t change one simple fact.

“I’m not leaving without Killian.”

“You have to,” came a familiar lilt from around the corner, and Emma’s eyes widened as Killian came into view. “You all have to leave Misthaven, and not tomorrow. Now.”

* * *

 

Killian told David and Liam (who had joined them at the forge not long after Emma had taken her leave), to go on ahead as he tidied things from their day’s work. Coming back into the cathedral he stopped before rounding the corner that led to the tower stairs corridor, hearing his name among urgent voices.  

“What’s really going on? There’s more to this than Neal Gold’s sudden infatuation. I want to know why you have all been acting strangely. Tell me.” He heard Emma demand, and wave upon wave of anguish, heartbreak, anger, and sorrow broke over him as he heard David relay the tale of treachery his father had wrought upon them all those years ago.

As Emma questioned how much Liam knew of the gruesome history, movement from the shadow of the adjacent hallway alcove caught Killian’s eye. His heart seized in panic as he saw Felix set a hurried pace toward the cathedral doors, and Killian knew he’d heard the full accounting and was on his way to relay the news to Gold.

“I’m not leaving without Killian,” Emma stated firmly, and Killian knew that time was of the essence.

“You have to,” he urged as he made his way around the corner and into view. “You all have to leave Misthaven, and not tomorrow. Now.”

“You… you heard all that?” David questioned.

“Aye,” Killian confirmed, and continued on with an apologetic tone, “I know I shouldn’t have been listening in on such a private conversation, but I’m afraid I’m not the only one. Felix heard it all too, and he’s no doubt on his way to repeat the entire tale to my father as we speak. It’s only a matter of time before he arrives, and I shudder to think what he’ll do if you all claim sanctuary. You have to go. Now.”

Their complexions paled before him, and David did not waste a moment in seeing to his family’s safety.

“Liam, go to the Mills. Tell them what’s happened.” He turned to Snow and Emma and instructed, “we leave for the Court of Miracles immediately.”

Snow and David rushed off towards their room to gather their belongings as Liam headed out toward the back courtyard as to not be seen by any of Gold’s guards that might be patrolling the square. Killian swallowed back his heartache as Emma approached him.

“Come with us,” she pleaded, the sheen of tears shimmering at her eyes.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” she insisted, taking his hand into hers and bringing it up to cradle against her chest. “Forget Gold and Neal. Put this place behind you.”

“You don’t understand, Emma,” Killian began softly, willing her to see the reality he had already come to forlornly accept. “As soon as Felix tells him, Gold will know. He’ll know about your family. Who they truly are. He’ll never stop hunting you. You and your family have to disappear,” he removed his hand from her hold to bring it up with his other to cup her cheeks, “and you can’t do that with me. I’m too conspicuous. My presence would put you all in danger.”

“But I,” she wavered, her voice hitching over a sob caught in her throat, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“And I don’t want to lose you,” he affirmed softly, willing his emotions to stay in check, not wishing to make this moment anymore painful for her even as he felt his heart being ripped from his chest. “But this is how it must be. I won’t put any of you in danger. You have to go. You have to forget about me.”

Emma raised herself up to rest her forehead against the cool metal that covered his own. A tear slipped past her lashes and they stood there for a long moment in the silence of their anguished goodbye.

As she pulled away he felt her press something into his hand, and as he looked down to see what it was she said, “You may not be gypsy, but you’ve proven yourself to have a gypsy heart.” Her focus turned downward at the item she’d placed within his palm, and Killian could see that it was some kind of thread patterned pendant. “If you ever have need of it, this band will lead you to the Court of Miracles, the gypsy sanctuary,” she explained, “It’s where my family and I will be until we can get away. Just remember, when you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand.”

“What?” Killian asked in confusion, but Emma merely gave him a watery smile as her mother’s voice filtered from down the hall.

“It’s time, Emma,” Snow said. “I’ve got your things, and your father is waiting for us at the forge.”

His gypsy girl pressed her lips together, trying to remain strong for him, just as he was for her. There were so many things he wanted to tell her. A hundred different things he’d wish to say, but none of them were able to make their way from the chaos of his mind to his tongue. He wasn’t sure the constriction of his chest and throat would allow any words to pass along his breath anyway.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye,” she confessed, fresh tears making their way down the cheeks he was still caressing within his hands.

“Then don’t,” he choked out, a sob catching at the back of his throat as well.

She gave him one last smile before she rose up and placed a kiss at the cheek of his mask. Killian felt a tear escape from under his lid and catch at the eye opening of his mask, he did not feel it slip down his cheek and could only assume it had crested and spilled over the metal and down the outside, tracking a line past the static features and over the spot her lips had just rested.

“I’ll never forget you,” she promised. Snow giving a second prompting that finally pulled the woman he loved away from him.

He watched her make her way down the corridor only to stop at the doorway and then turn back. He barely had a moment to register her rushed approach before she threw her arms around his neck and he found himself holding her in his arms. Something he’d longed to do since the moment they’d met, and something that was over much too soon.

Emma pulled back to affix her gaze with his, “I love you,” she confessed on a whisper as she pressed her lips against the mouth of his mask. It was a kind of sweet torture to feel her kiss halfway placed between his actual lips and the cold metal that separated them. What he wouldn’t have given to take her lips fully against his own, to keep her there in his arms forever, to express his love for her every day for the rest of his life, but the urgent pleas of both her parents, and the knowledge that his father could arrive at any moment meant that those dreams would never be possible.

He at least had this moment, though. This miraculous moment of assurance that his gypsy girl loved him, and this final moment to declare it back to her.

“I love you, Emma.”

He pulled her into one final embrace, letting go only to place her within her father’s arms as David came up to express once again that they must leave. He held onto her hand as long as he could, remaining where he stood as she walked away, their fingertips pleading for just a moment longer as they brushed past one another a final time.

* * *

 

Killian knew not how long he remained in the corridor after they’d gone, but all too soon the sound of his father and brother’s voices began to echo toward him from the front of the cathedral. He could hear Nemo’s shouts of protest that Gold had brought guards with him to search the building and grounds for the gypsies as he turned and made his way up the tower steps towards his room. Let Gold waste time searching, it would only give Emma and her family more time to get to safety.

Killian’s heart clenched at the sight of Emma’s cot as he entered his room. The knowledge that she would no longer be lying there acting like a vice within his chest. A tightening that intensified as Killian’s eyes landed on one of Emma’s possessions, her hand mirror. Snow must have overlooked it in her haste.

He tenderly ran his fingers over the scroll work of its design as he reached up to press his other hand against the pain that continued to radiate in his chest, only to remember the woven band that remained within its grasp. No sooner had he placed it around his neck and tucked it into the front of his tunic than his door swung open with a banging force revealing the presence of Gold and Neal.

“Where are they?” Gold seethed, a sneer encompassing his entire visage.

“Gone,” Killian replied.

“Gone where?” Neal demanded, and the only answer Killian provided was the quiet wrath of his steely gaze. “Answer me!”

“Save your breath, son,” Gold advised. “He isn’t going to tell us… and he doesn’t have to. I already know where they’ve gone.”

Killian turned his attention to Gold and did all he could to keep an unaffected demeanor about him as his father proclaimed, “The Court of Miracles. I’ve already decreed that all the roads and waterways leading out of the city be guarded, so the gypsy sanctuary is their only option for refuge.”

Neal’s hands clenched in anger as he questioned Killian, “Do you know where it is? Tell us where it is!”

“I don’t need him to tell me,” Gold stated, and Killian’s head snapped back to look at his father once more. “I already know exactly where the Court of Miracles is.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Neal asked impatiently. “Let’s go!”

“Not so fast,” Gold replied. “The Court of Miracles will be heavily fortified and guarded. We’ll need more men and time to prepare _accommodations_ for all those who dared to harbor the Nolan clan from my justice.”

“Justice?” Killian scoffed. “How is the slaughter of innocent people justice?”

“There is nothing innocent about a gypsy,” Gold sneered. “And come dawn tomorrow, there won’t be a single gypsy left within the Province. My soldiers will see to that.”

“Well, maybe one gypsy,” Neal taunted as he moved to follow Gold from the room. “Papa has promised me a prize. And I can think of no greater prize than taking your gypsy girl from you… in every way imaginable.”

Killian’s fist connected with his brother’s jaw before he even fully formed the intention in his mind. Spurred on by a rage unequal to any he had ever experienced before, Killian drew his arm back and swung at his brother again, pain searing through his hand as he made contact once more. Before he could strike a third time a sharp pain landed across Killian’s side and he looked up to see his father swinging his cane towards him, the brass handle colliding with the side of his head and throwing him off balance.

Another hit rang out as metal hammered against metal at the back of Killian’s head knocking him to the floor, the impact causing everything around him to go black.

* * *

 

“Killian? Can you hear me? Wake up. Wake up, my son. Killian?”

Killian groaned at the pounding in his head as he came to with Nemo crouched beside him on the floor.

“Easy, my son,” Nemo cautioned as Killian attempted to pick himself up off the floor. “Take it slowly.”

“There’s no time for that,” Killian protested. “I have to warn Emma and the others.”

As he turned to push himself off the floor he felt his mask shift ever so slightly before he watched the inverse of his features slip from his face to the floor below him. Just as Killian realized that the blow from his father’s cane must have broken the locking mechanism, he heard a sharp intake of air from the man beside him.

Quickly covering his face with his hands, Killian begged Nemo not to look, panic setting in over his exposure. The bishop’s hands grasped Killian’s wrists and he began to pull his hands down despite Killian’s wild protests.

“No! No, no, no, please!”

“Killian!” Nemo shouted over his cries. “Killian listen to me.”

Killian continued to try and hide away, pleading with Nemo not to look.

“But I have looked, Killian,” Nemo stated softly, removing his hands from Killian’s wrists and placing them at his shoulders. “And listen to me, my son. You must look, too.”

Killian vehemently shook his head, his entire body shaking at the prospect.

“Yes, Killian,” Nemo urged, and Killian felt one of Nemo’s hands move off his shoulder and heard him pick something up from the workbench. “Open your eyes, and remove your hands. It’s time for you to see what lies beneath the mask.”

Killian opened his eyes and could see Emma’s mirror before him through his splayed fingers, the barred reflection unnatural without the cold glint of metal peering back at him.

“Go on, my son,” Nemo prompted and reached over again with his free hand to gently try and pull Killian’s hands away from his face.

Killian closed his eyes and dropped his hands, drawing in several breaths to try and calm his racing heart and the wave of nausea that threatened to overtake him.

Imaginings of what he might look like under the mask had plagued him throughout his life. Visions of misshapen or missing features. Markings and scars like those left behind from the pox. All manner of vile and ugliness of face had played themselves over in his mind, but never had he considered a face like the one before him when he finally found the courage to open his eyes.

He had to bring his hand up again just to see it touch his face in the mirror before he could fully accept what he was seeing. No disfigurement. No deformity. Nothing extraordinary that would make him any different in appearance than any other man. No markings, no blemishes other than one small scar which rested upon his right cheek. There was no monster beneath the mask. No abomination. Just a man.

Just an ordinary man.

Killian couldn’t even begin to name all the emotions that churned within him. A volatile mix that began to combust as he roared an enraged shout that reverberated off the stone walls. If it weren’t for the fact that it belonged to his Emma, Killian would have smashed the mirror against his workbench. His face a source of mockery in that moment, reminding him that his had been a life of nothing but lies.

He placed the mirror back onto his workbench and grasped its edge, anchoring himself there as the rage, the madness, the pain, and the injustice constricted itself through every muscle in his body. Stuttered itself through each attempt to suck air back into his lungs, and rippled along the ticking muscles of his jaw. His vision spectrumed from shades of red to the wrath of white, and then dotted itself with bursts of black as he reminded himself to take another breath.

Killian felt Nemo’s hand settle on his shoulder, words of comfort that Killian could not stomach in that moment offered up in a tone of mutual indignation and anger. His vision cleared and focused itself back on the workbench, his eyes looking into the familiar blue reflected back to him from a face he did not recognize. A stranger with his eyes and his name staring at him from the surface of Emma’s mirror.

 _Emma_.

Taking in a deep, steadying breath, Killian bottled his rage for another time. He had a more pressing issue facing him.

“Killian,” Nemo said, leveling his eyes with him as he’d always done. “Gold will be made to answer for this. I will see to it.”

“Gold,” Killian clipped sharply, his fists balled at his sides as he willed away the vestiges of madness left lingering and focused on the matter at hand. “Yes. Gold will pay for his crimes, but first I must see to it that another is not added to the count. I have to go warn the gypsies. Gold knows where their Court of Miracles is and plans to attack at dawn.”

“Do you know where to find this Court of Miracles?” Nemo asked.

Killian’s heart sank for the briefest of moments before he remembered the woven band and pulled it from beneath his tunic.

“Emma gave me this,” he showed Nemo, “said it would lead me to it if I ever had need.”

As the two men studied the woven markings in order to try and decipher their meaning, Emma’s words when she first placed it in his hand came back to Killian.

_When you wear this woven band, you hold the city in your hand._

Killian took a closer look and began to see the artifact for what it truly was.

“Bloody hell. It’s a map!” he exclaimed. “See the cross? That’s the cathedral. And the blue line is the river. Which means this symbol must be the Court of Miracles.” 

“That’s on the other side of the city,” Nemo noted. “You’ve no time to lose. Go and warn them all.”

“Aren’t you coming with me?” Without his mask he would no longer be reviled as some sort of freak or monster, nevertheless the prospect of going out in public without it almost distressed him more.

“No,” Nemo replied, seemingly oblivious to Killian’s inner turmoil, his mind already engaged on the task set before him. “I must send word to the king immediately. He must be told of Gold’s crimes. No one else has the authority to issue an edict for his arrest. Now go,” he urged. “Time is fleeting.”

Killian quickly changed into garments of darker hues that would aid him in remaining inconspicuous now that the sun had set. He tucked the band back beneath his shirt, threw on his cloak, and headed out into the night.

The feel of night and cool breezes of darkness against his features sent both pleasant and unnerving sensations coursing through him. Without the mask acting as a blinder around his eyes, Killian marveled at the heightened ability of sight his periphery afforded him. Without the added weight of metal atop his head, it took some time for Killian to find a new center of balance, his gait and stance adjusting to the additional freedom.

Indeed, many adjustments would need to be made now that he could live a life without the mask. A life free from not only the physical weight and limitations Killian had grown accustomed to over the course of his life, but of the mental, emotional, and social ones as well. Adjustments of freedom that opened up potential opportunities Killian had never dreamed possible. Dreams and opportunities that sent sparks of excitement into each nerve ending, but were quickly quelled by the knots of anxiety tightening within his gut.

Anxiety over what his new found revelation would mean. What would happen once Gold discovered that he knew the truth; when his father’s crimes became as exposed, and laid as bare as Killian’s face was now. The considerations of his father’s response left Killian with a pulsating tension within his chest. It threatened to immobilize him in paralyzing alarm every bit as much as the new sensations of his exposed face had.

In order to combat the threatening anxiety he felt permeating his entire person, Killian concentrated on devising a plan as he made his way through the city toward the location the markings revealed on Emma’s map. It was a plan he might never have thought himself capable of crafting, much less enacting, but that was before the mask fell. Before the truth had finally been revealed. No. Before Gold had threatened the woman Killian loved. The falling of the mask, the revelation of what lay beneath, and the threats toward Emma and her family spurred Killian in the plan’s design.

A plan to murder Gold and Neal.

Despite Nemo’s intentions to involve the king, and his assertions that it was their monarch alone that could bring Gold to justice, Killian wasn’t about to take the chance that his father would find some loophole to escape it. So Killian would take justice into his own hands.

Once he was assured that Emma and her family were safely out of Misthaven, Killian would murder Gold and Neal in their beds and set fire to that accursed house. He’d  commit the deed unmasked and then fix the lock, donning the mask once again for a time. If he was seen, the witness would describe a man that no one would be able to identify, never suspecting that the man with the features described was actually the Masked Monster of Misthaven.

Killian gave his plan a moment’s pause when he considered that Nemo would recognize any such description. He wouldn’t even need an eyewitness to know who the culprit was. His gut churned at the burden such knowledge would place on his friend, his mentor, the only true father he’d ever known, but Killian dismissed it for now. Surely Nemo would understand, would remain silent long enough for Killian to wait out suspicion and then leave the city.

These burdened thoughts continued to plague Killian’s mind even as he discovered the entrance to the underground tunnels that housed the Court of Miracles. So wrapped up in plans of murder and justification, he did not notice the figures emerging from the shadows as he passed through a stone archway that led to a series of lit passageways.

Too late to react once their presence became known to him, Killian felt a blow to his already tender head before he could utter a word, and for the second time that day he found himself giving in to the black depths of oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know... I'm the absolute worst. His mask is FINALLY off, and we don't get to see Emma's response yet. Feel free to yell at me in your reviews or over on Tumblr ;o)
> 
> Continued love for my beta Allison (ilovemesomekillianjones) who makes my words make actual sense! *muah*


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with an additional content warning, please be advised: Depictions of assault and attempted sexual assault.

* * *

 

**Chapter 6**

A fresh pounding reverberated in Killian’s skull as a wave of nausea crested over his consciousness. Slowly he drew breath in through his nose as he opened his eyes, blinking at the blurred edges of his vision, he tried to remember what had happened. He’d arrived at the Court of Miracles distracted with worry for Emma and her family, and filled with murderous intentions towards his father and brother, when someone had gotten the drop on him.

Awareness of his surroundings was slow to come, but it did not take him long to realize that his hands had been bound and he’d been secured to a chair within a dimly lit room. The act of swallowing was difficult, and just as Killian realized that it was because he’d been gagged, an older woman entered the room followed by two men, one of whom he recognized.

Relieved to see Robin, Killian could not understand the wary and hostile gaze his friend gave as he took his place next to the woman. Killian tried to speak, remembering the gag only as the knotted rope dug into the tender flesh at the corners of his mouth causing him to wince, and Robin’s demeanor finally made sense. He didn’t know who Killian was. Did not recognize him without the mask.

“Well, well, well,” the older woman mused as she circled Killian, “what have we here?”

“A trespasser,” the other man said.

“A spy,” Robin spat.

Killian attempted to explain who he was through the gag, imploring Robin with the intensity of his gaze to recognize something, anything, about him.

“Ah, ah,” the woman admonished, circling back around to stand before him. “Don’t interrupt.”

She surveyed him with a critical eye, and Killian took the opportunity to assess her as well. She had to be Cora Mills, the matriarch of the Mills clan. Emma’s description of a primly coiffed woman whose smile offered matronly kindness, while her eyes flashed the intent to rip one’s heart out was quite apt in that moment.

“You’re very clever to have discovered our hideaway,” she complimented politely, her tone continuing to carry a pleasant air even as she threatened, “it’s too bad you won’t live long enough to tell the tale.”

Killian’s heart plummeted at her words and he fought more urgently against his bindings and the gag. They had to listen to him. He had to warn them about Gold.

“I’m sure you are used to your pretty face buying you a lot,” she stated, and those words shocked Killian into a stilled silence. _Oh, if she only knew._ “But it won’t buy my time. We can’t let you leave here to reveal what you’ve found.” She turned to address Robin and the other man, and cold dread swept through Killian as she ordered, “Hang him.”

Each man grabbed Killian firmly under an arm after releasing him from the chair, his hands still bound behind him. Killian twisted and fought to be free of their hold as they dragged him towards a scaffold. Screaming against the knotted rope that now tore at the corners of his mouth, he watched a makeshift gallows being prepared for him. He searched the crowd of gathered gypsies, praying that someone might intervene, that he might be able to locate Emma or one of her family within the throng, but it was to no avail.

Robin forced him to step up onto a crate and a noose was placed over his head, his cloak and tunic adjusted so the rope lay flush against his skin. Killian’s heart hammered within his chest, a cold sweat breaking over him as hot tears started to spill themselves down his cheeks.

“Any last words?” Robin sneered in his ear.

Killian tried one last time to identify himself, but the gypsy just smirked and taunted, “That’s what they all say.”

Robin jumped off the crate and stood before the crowd, a menacing glint of satisfaction gleamed in his eyes as he turned his attention to the other gypsy who stood ready to kick the crate out from under Killian’s feet.

Just as Robin lifted his chin to nod at his executioner, Killian heard an impassioned, “Stop!” call out.

Turning his head in the direction of the decree, Killian saw Emma approach with her family. She came to stand before him, her eyes focused upon his chest. She reached out and grasped the woven band that had made its way out from under his tunic.

“Where did you get this?” she demanded, her eyes burning with a mixture of anger and worry. “I gave this to Killian. The man at the cathedral. How did you get this? What did you do to him?”

He attempted to answer and winced again at the biting gag in his mouth. Emma signaled for Robin to remove it, and Killian tongued the raw and tender flesh at the edges of his mouth as Emma demanded that he answer her.

Killian took a shaky breath and focused his eyes onto Emma’s. “You gave it to me, love.

Emma’s eyes widened in recognition, and Killian heard a series of gasps echo around him as she exhaled his name.

“Killian?”

“Aye,” he affirmed and tears pooled in her eyes.

“Bloody hell!” Robin exclaimed as he scrambled to remove the noose from around Killian’s neck. He untied the bindings and assisted Killian off the crate to stand before Emma.

Emma’s eyes roamed over his features, her lips slightly parted in awed disbelief. Her hands came up to his face, fingertips caressing the features her eyes had just taken in, and his eyes fell shut at the sensation. Shivers of wonder ran along his spine as gooseflesh erupted over his skin.

Killian reached up to place his hands over hers as they cupped his face, tears now making their way over both their cheeks.

“Killian,” she murmured again, “it’s really you?”

“Aye, love,” he answered. “This is really me. The man beneath the mask.”

* * *

 

Emma couldn’t believe what she was seeing, couldn’t believe her ears when the voice of the man she loved passed through the lips of the handsome stranger before her.

Handsome. He was handsome. _No,_ her mind protested, _he’s beautiful. As beautiful as the moment she’d first met him._

And there was truth in that. Killian had always been beautiful to her, but this… him… his face.

It was perfect.

Her heart swelled and flurries rippled through her belly when she’d taken in his features. Dark, expressive brows, auburn dusted stubble that covered a sleek, strong jaw, high rose blushed cheeks all exposed in true reflection of the beauty that had always been beneath the surface.

Emma saw Killian shiver when she’d brought her hands up to caress his face. His hands now covered hers and she felt her thumb brushed over a small scar high on his cheek. The only mar to an otherwise perfect complexion.

“I’ve worn a mask for as long as I can remember,” he commented softly. “I’ve no idea how I came to acquire the scar.”

“I do,” the choked voice of her brother called from behind her. “I gave it to you.”

Both she and Killian dropped their hands and turned to face him. Tears shone in Liam’s eyes, and mirrored pools glimmered in those of her parents as they all stared at Killian in awe.

“You look so like them,” Snow uttered through her tears, now cascading down her cheeks. “You have Brennan’s smile, and Amelia’s eyes. I should have seen it sooner.”

It took several moments for Emma to realize what they were saying. She’d wanted to argue that her mother couldn’t have noticed any resemblance because of his mask, but then realized that those were the only two features his mask had ever displayed.

Emma looked back at Killian, the impact of Liam’s and her mother’s words displaying themselves in cautious astonishment upon his face.

“What… what are you saying?”

“We’re saying,” David replied, placing a hand upon Killian’s shoulder, “that you’re one of us. You _are_ Killian Jones. The lost gypsy boy.”

“My little brother,” Liam exclaimed as he pulled Killian into a tight embrace and laughed through joyful tears.

Emma could see the utter shock coursing through Killian at the revelation.  An overwhelming shift to the very foundations his entire life had been constructed upon. The sheer will and determination it must have taken to make his way to them after the reveal of Gold’s true treachery caused Emma to once again marvel at the strength and courage of this man, even as she began to wonder how such a revelation had finally been made.

“Killian?” Emma began, pulling his attention from her brother’s - _his_ brother’s - embrace. “What happened to your mask? Why are you here?”

“I’ve come to warn you all,” Killian stated, addressing the entire assembly of gypsies within the court. “Governor Gold knows where to find you, and plans to attack at dawn to arrest the Nolans. You all must flee before he arrives.” Killian focused his attentions to just Emma and her family as he added, “You must leave Misthaven tonight, but you’ll have to find a way out of the city without the use of road or waterway. Gold is having them guarded.”

“The Asylum Trail,” Robin offered. “You’ll have to go by foot, but the forest will provide you cover until you reach the province’s border.”

“We must pack quickly if we want to get a decent enough head start,” her father said.

David and Snow withdrew to their quarters and began to gather the supplies and items they’d need. The rest of the clan discussed how to handle Gold’s imminent attack.

“I’m sorry we won’t have a chance to go back and get your things, brother,” Liam commented. “We can’t risk going back to the cathedral. You’ll have to make due with some of my hand me downs. I’ll get a satchel ready for you,” he finished and then turned to follow their parents.

“I’m sorry, Liam,” Killian replied, halting Liam’s steps, “but I’m not coming with you.”

Emma’s head snapped back towards Killian, confusion and panic lacing her words as she grasped his hands in desperation. “You _must_ come with us now.”

“Nothing has changed, Emma,” Killian declared softly. “As long as Gold is alive you’re all in danger. He’ll never stop hunting you. I have to stay so I can stop him. So I can protect you. Protect all of you.”

“But how can you stop-,” Emma’s words fell away as she saw a dark expression cross his face, his gaze no longer meeting hers. “Killian? What do you plan to do?”

“Please don’t ask me that, Emma,” he whispered, a tightness encompassing his tone.

“Tell me, Killian,” she urged. “What are you going to do?”

“Whatever I have to,” he affirmed, meeting her eyes again with an intensity that nearly stole her breath. “Whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if it means becoming the monster they always claimed me to be.”

Emma could see the apprehension behind Killian’s resolve. The fear that his intentions would drive her love away, and though she wished to plead with him further, knew she should try to dissuade him from seeking vengeance against Gold, she didn’t. Instead, she rested her forehead against his and whispered, “When it’s done… when Gold is no longer a threat… come find me, Killian.”

Killian let out a relieved sigh. “Aye, my love. I’ll always find you.”

“And so shall I!” Gold’s voice rang out.

The assembly of gypsies watched in horror as soldiers flooded the Court of Miracles.

* * *

 

 

Killian and Liam took a protective stance around Emma as chaos erupted around them. How had Gold assembled his men so quickly? Why had he attacked early? Glancing at Gold and Neal, Killian’s heart dropped when he saw the smirks set upon their faces, and the terrible truth washed over him. Gold had lied about knowing the location of the gypsy sanctuary, and Killian had led them right to it.

“Stand down!” Neal ordered. “Any of you among the Mills clan who lays down their arms now, and does not interfere in our business with the Nolan’s will receive pardon for harboring these criminals.”

Cora, who had made her way into the chamber with Gold and Neal, nodded her assent  and the clattering sounds of surrendered weaponry rang out within the chamber. Killian stared at the woman incredulously. How could she sell them out this way? True, they were outnumbered, but didn’t their code demand that they die trying?

Sounds of struggle and protest drew Killian’s attention, and he saw David and Snow being dragged back into the court, deposited at Gold’s feet.

“At last,” Gold triumphed. “The remnants of that treacherous woman’s clan will finally be brought to justice.”

“This isn’t justice,” David countered vehemently, standing to face Gold. “It’s slaughter. You’re nothing but a murderer.”

One of Gold’s soldiers landed a sharp punch to David’s middle, doubling him over, while  another soldier stood over Snow, his sword hovering over her heart.

“Accept your fate without further trouble, _gypsy_ , and I promise to make _their_ deaths swift,” Gold sneered as he pointed his gaze at Snow, then over to Liam and Emma.

Gold nodded to his soldiers and hands began pulling Emma and Liam from Killian. They were roughly bound with ropes, causing Emma to cry out in pain.

“No!” Killian shouted as he rushed towards her, only to have two soldiers catch hold of him.

“I’ll deal with you later,” Gold said to Killian with an evil grin on his lips.

“You should just have me executed alongside them,” Killian spat defiantly.

“You still have some value to me,” Gold responded flippantly, “but not to worry, dearie. Once your usefulness runs out I plan to put you out of both our miseries.”

“Value?” Killian scoffed. “You’ve never valued anything but my pain and torment.”

“True,” Gold tittered. “But the king has always found you to be a fascinating topic of interest.”

“The king?” Killian replied incredulously.

“Indeed. When the king first learned, all those years ago, that I had adopted a poor wretch into my household, one that required a mask to cover a deformity his own mother abandoned him for, why… I became something of a saint in his eyes. How do you think I became Governor?” he explained with a sadistic amount of glee.

“Imagine the king’s wrath once he discovers the lie you’ve perpetuated over all these years,” Killian taunted through grit teeth.

“Oh, it won’t be a lie once I’m done with you,” Gold threatened coldly. “I should have made your need for that mask a reality when you were first fitted with it. A mistake I mean to rectify once I’ve dealt with them.” He gestured towards the Nolans, all bound and on their knees, awaiting their sentence.

“You won’t get away with it,” Killian stated. “Too many people know the truth now.”

“You mean gypsies,” Gold contended. “Who’s going to believe the word of a gypsy over my own? The Governor?”

“Perhaps they’ll believe mine,” Killian countered, “or Bishop Nemo’s. You can’t silence us all.”

“I can if I remove your tongue,” Gold threatened. “As for Nemo, he’ll be easy enough to deal with. Felix will see to him. Then I’ll see to you… _my son_.”

“I’ve never been your son,” Killian seethed, “and I know the truth now. My parents never abandoned me. You killed them.”

“Oh, I can’t take credit for your father, I’m afraid. That was my soldiers’ doing. But your mother… well, that’s another story. Struck her down with my horse as she pleaded for sanctuary at the cathedral doors. You never knew, did you?” he taunted. “For the past six years you’ve taken solace in the very place providence turned its back on you and handed you over to me.”

“You bastard!” Liam cried out. “You’ll pay for what you did to Killian. For what you did to all of us.”

“Perhaps,” Gold replied dismissively, “but none of you will live to see it. You’ll be executed in the town square tomorrow morning, and just to make sure our deal remains in tact,” he continued, turning his attentions to Cora, “My guards will remain here to see to it that none of your clansmen can interfere. Take them away!” Gold ordered.

Killian renewed his efforts to be free from the soldiers’ hold on him, crying out Emma’s name as he watched her and her family being dragged away. Her shouts for him rang in his ears and gripped at his heart as he pulled and twisted with vigor. Suddenly Killian felt his breath escape him as one of the soldiers struck him in the gut with the hilt of a sword in an effort to stop his struggles.

“Take him back to the cathedral and see that he and the monks stay there,” Gold instructed.

Killian’s arms were forced behind him and he too was bound before being led out of the Court of Miracles. A vehement desire to see Gold dead sparked within Killian as he cast dark looks at both him and Neal, as he was dragged past them. Their demise would have to wait, though. Killian had a gypsy girl, and his true family, to save first.

* * *

 

Killian paced the length of the small room the guards had locked him in, wracking his brain for a means of escape. The small window was too narrow to fit through, even if he could reach it. He’d hoped the soldiers would choose a room with the door hinges facing inward, but it seemed they weren’t too ignorant to recognize the escape potential such a detail would afford him. He might have some luck picking the lock, if only he had a length of thin, hard metal to use, but even if he got the door open, he’d have to contend with the guards posted just outside.

Killian ran his hand over his face in frustration, and might have marveled at the compulsion and the ability to do so if it weren’t for the sounds of a scuffle coming from outside the door. He braced himself for what stood beyond the door as he heard the key being fitted into the lock. Killian’s tension remained when he took in the presence of Robin and the other gypsy man who’d been with him at the Court of Miracles when the two made their way through the door.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” Killian demanded. His posture braced with alert apprehension, he did not trust Robin’s intentions, not after his matriarch had all but handed Emma and her family - _his family_ \- over to Gold.

“Saving your arse,” the other man quipped, his cocky demeanor and cheeky expression setting Killian’s already frayed nerves on edge.

“Oh, now you’ve decided to step in and do something?” Killian confronted Robin through grit teeth, grabbing him by his tunic and slamming his back into the nearest wall. “Why now, when you did nothing to aid them before? Your matriarch handed them over to Gold and you just stood there and did nothing!”

“Oi!” the other man shouted as he tried to pull Killian away from Robin. “Let go!”

“It’s alright, Will,” Robin replied to his compatriot before squaring his gaze at Killian. “You’re right. We did nothing,” he acknowledged. “If we had fought back we would have been slaughtered. Cora and Gold have had an understanding between them for years,” he went on to explain. “She acts on his behalf in unsavory issues he can’t risk dirtying his hands with, and he gives us a wide berth to live our lives without interference. Making Gold believe that she would honor their arrangements over our gypsy code was the only way we could truly help the Nolans.”

“It was a ruse?”

“Aye,” Robin continued. “We’d be no good to the Nolans dead, or arrested alongside them.”

“But Gold left a contingency to guard over the Court of Miracles.”

“Do you really think we don’t have ways to sneak in and out of our own sanctuary? You have much to learn about gypsy life, my friend.”

Killian released Robin and the men took a moment to assess one another before Killian asked, “So what do we do now?”

“Now,” Robin replied as he clapped a hand on Killian’s shoulder, “we go save the woman you love, and the rest of your family. They’re being brought to the square for sentencing even as we speak, so we must hurry.”

Knowing that he would need the weight and authority of Nemo’s position in order to stay the Nolan’s execution, Killian led Robin and the other man, Will Scarlett, a fellow clansman of the Mills troupe, to the corridor that housed the monk’s cells. Fortunately, only two guards had been stationed to watch over and ensure the holy men remained sequestered within their rooms and were easily subdued by the trio. Divesting one of the guards of his weapon, Killian rushed to exit the cathedral when he heard the ringing of the proclamation bell, alerting all and sundry that a public sentencing was about to take place in the square.

With Robin and Will close behind him, Killian made his way through the crowd towards the platform as charges against the Nolans were being read. Fighting their way onto the platform, Killian managed to make his way to the cryer. The passions of battle and urgency of the moment fueled his courage to stand before the crowd as he called out the falsity of the charges. Will and Robin continued to hold off guards that attempted to make their way onto the platform as Killian urged the crowd to heed his words.

“And why should we listen to you?” a mocking voice called out from the crowd. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I will tell you who he is,” Nemo called out over the crowd having made it to the platform. A revered silence spread over the assemblage at the Bishop’s presence. “He is the proof of the true crimes that ought to be put on trial. The crimes of Governor Gold.” Gasps and utterances of confusion rippled through the crowd, all eyes turning to the Governor’s raised dais where Gold sat seething; though Killian could detect a twinge of something akin to fear in the man’s demeanor. “This man is the evidence of Gold’s depravity and cruelty,” Nemo continued. Having taken the cryer’s place next to Killian, Nemo rested a hand on his shoulder as he declared. “This is Gold’s very own adopted son, Killian. However, most of you have come to know him by another name. The Masked Monster of Misthaven.” Nemo pulled Killian’s mask from beneath his robes and displayed it to the shocked and horrified crowd.

Killian stepped forward to the very front of the platform, and for the first time since the truth of his face had literally come to light, he gave voice to the atrocity Gold had committed against him. “Twenty years ago, Gold murdered my parents and took me from the only family I had left. He locked me in a prison of lies behind a metal mask. Everything about my life has been a lie! Just as the charges against these gypsies are a lie!” he shouted. His bottled rage and torment sparked passion into his words, and they began to stir the crowd. “It is time for Gold to answer for his crimes! What say you Misthaven? Will you stand with us?”

An impassioned response rose from the crowd, and Gold no longer appeared angry, but fearful.

“A dispatch has already been sent to the king calling for Gold’s arrest,” Nemo declared, “but we cannot allow _this_ atrocity to be committed.” Nemo gestured toward the jailer’s wagon that held the accused gypsies, and for the first time Killian took a good look through the bars only to discover that Emma was not among her family.

“Free the gypsies! Arrest Gold!” someone cried out from the crowd; the mob was quick to take up the call, and chaos erupted within the square. Gold’s guards seemed split in their loyalties. Some fought against the crowd in order to protect Gold, while others assisted Killian in freeing the Nolans from the jailer’s wagon.

“Where’s Emma?” he questioned frantically as he helped to remove their bindings. “Is she alright? Where is she?

“Neal came for her before we were transported to the square,” Liam answered gravely. “Said he’d made a deal with his father to spare her as long as she agreed to be his. She refused, but he took her anyway.”

A frenzied madness threatened to overtake Killian as he tried to push away all the vile considerations of what Neal intended to do to her when an urgent cry rang out from the crowd.

“He’s getting away! Gold’s getting away!”

“Go after Emma,” Liam urged. “I’ll make sure that bastard doesn’t get far.”

“Take this,” Killian offered, handing the sword he’d had clutched in his hand over to Liam.

“What about Neal?”

“I won’t be needing that to deal with him,” Killian answered darkly. Without further preamble, Killian set off toward Gold’s manor, praying with every sprinted footfall that Emma would be strong enough to hold Neal off until he could reach her.

 

* * *

 

Emma fought and thrashed, her terror giving her an added strength that had helped her hold off his depraved advances. Even with this additional fervor, she was no match for the crushing grip at her wrists or unyielding weight against the length of her body. 

Upon entering the manor, Neal had announced to all within earshot that he was not to be disturbed. When the servants only looked on with apathetic gazes to her plight, Emma knew there would be no aid coming from within the household.

Tears welled in her eyes and rising bile burned her throat as she felt the heat of his mouth along her neck, sucking and biting with no thought of tenderness. A shudder of revulsion rolled through her at the feel of his eager heaviness rubbing against her thigh while he attempted to raise her skirts with only the use of his knee, keeping her hands bound within his above her head.

She refused to give him the satisfaction of her pleas.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he goaded. “No use in fighting me anymore. I told you this is where your little games would end.” He brought his face back up and attempted to claim her mouth, but Emma turned her head in refusal.

A fresh wave of indignation swelled within her when she saw a glimmer of metal and realized that it was shining off a familiar sight.

A mask.

Displayed on his bedside table was one of Killian’s old masks, sitting there as though it were a trophy one would exhibit in a manner of pride. A gloating reminder of the truth of both his and his father’s cruelty, a cruelty Emma feared she was about to be subjected to.

Just as her tears began to spill over her cheeks, Emma heard a muffled shout echo within the manor. The cry called out again and she felt Neal shift his attentions toward the door affording her the opportunity to strike. Encumbered by her skirts, she brought her knee up with as much force as she was capable, and struck him in the inner thigh. The unexpected blow caused his grip to loosen at her wrists and she wrenched a hand free. She clawed and scratched at his neck and face, and though her actions caused him to rear back, they also strengthened the grip he still had on her other wrist.

The shouts came closer and Emma’s heart soared at the realization that the voice calling out her name was Killian’s. She reached over to the bedside table and grasped the heavy metal mask, swinging it wildly she caught Neal about the head. The blow disoriented him enough that she was able to shove him aside. She cried out Killian’s name as she freed herself from Neal’s hold.

Emma had almost made it to the chamber door when it crashed open, revealing Killian. Momentary relief flashed within his eyes before his gaze hardened as he took in the harrowing details of her appearance. Her rumpled and torn dress, the fresh bruise that was surely blooming at her cheek where she’d been struck earlier, the bite marks Neal had left on her neck, all caused a frightful darkness to burn in his eyes as his rage spilled over.

Still slightly stunned at the blow he’d received, Neal had only a moment to brace himself for Killian’s advance.  Slamming Neal against the wall, Killian managed to strike him twice before receiving a jab to his own ribs.

Emma retreated to the balcony as the two exchanged blows, eventually knocking each other to the ground. As they wrestled with one another Emma looked about for some way to help Killian. Perhaps she could make her way back toward the bedside table and grab Neal’s sword.

Before she could put that plan into action Killian subdued Neal by pressing his forearm against the wretched man’s neck. Killian’s attention was caught by the sight of something on the ground next to him.

The mask.

Killian grabbed it, and Emma saw the intent flash behind his eyes as Killian raised the mask, determined to administer a beating with it. Her breath caught at his hesitation. Seething rage rolled off him, and the muscle in his jaw ticked as he looked down at the man who had been an accessory to the years of cruelty and torment Killian had suffered. Emma held her breath as Killian lowered the mask and began to speak.

“I should beat you to death with this. Repay you blow for blow, every strike I endured on your behalf.” His voice shook with fury, his expression hardened by the resolve that resonated within his words. “But regardless of what you and Gold tried to make me believe my entire life… I. Am. _Not_. A monster.”

Killian tossed the mask aside and stood, leaving Neal to cower on the floor. As Killian made his way over to her at the balcony, Emma saw Neal pick himself up off the floor and unsheathe the sword that had been resting against the bedside table.

“Killian! Behind you!” she cried, as Neal rushed forward.

Killian turned in time to see Neal advancing with sword in hand, and had only a moment to react. Side stepping as Neal lunged, Killian grabbed his arm and swung him towards the balcony ledge. The momentum caused Neal’s balance to falter, and before Killian could reach out to stop him, Neal stumbled over the ledge; a sickening thud echoed from the cobblestone below.

Emma rushed to Killian’s side as he stared over the balcony edge, but he turned and stopped her before she could look upon the scene below.

“Don’t, Emma,” he pleaded with a catch in his voice. “Please, don’t look.”

Emma watched as a barrage of emotions seemed to engulf him all at once. Where moments ago he’d been steeled with murderous rage and righteous indignation, he now looked stricken and exposed. He tore his gaze from her and his shoulders began to shake, but she wouldn’t allow him to turn away from her. Gently she reached out and guided his head to her shoulder providing him a sanctuary for his vulnerability.

Uncontrollable sobs wracked his body as they sank to their knees on the balcony. Emma held him in her arms as he poured out twenty years of anguish over the abuse he had suffered, not staying her own tears as they mixed with his.

Emma felt his tender caress on her cheeks as he wiped away the remainder of her tears.  His own had already been spent, and time had passed without thought as they simply held one another and wept. She stared into his now clear and serene gaze; the storm of tumultuous reflections that had clouded his mind no longer resided behind his forget-me-not eyes.

“Everything in my life has been a lie,” he whispered softly, holding her face in his hands. “Except you. You are the only real thing… the only true thing I know. I love you, Emma.”

“I love you, Killian.”

He closed the gap between them, pressing his lips to hers, tightening his arms to draw her closer to him. She’d often thought to herself how perfect his lips appeared, even beneath the rigid lines of his mask. And they were perfect. Fitting against her own as if they had been sculpted to rest there.

Killian released her lips, and she chased his, earning her a small smile and chuckle as he caressed the line of her jaw. His gaze of adoration practically stole her breath before he pressed in again. This time he took her lips more urgently, moving his hand around to caress the base of her neck.

Losing themselves in the tentative exploration of mingled breaths and emboldened tongues, they did not hear the approach of her family, until a clearing of a throat startled them apart. Emma could feel the blush radiate from her face as she and Killian stood to face her parents and Liam.

“Are you both alright?” Snow asked, pointedly ignoring the tender yet passionate scene she’d walked in on.

“We’re fine, Mother,” Emma reassured as she was pulled into both her parent’s loving arms.

“What of Gold?” she heard Killian ask Liam, and a shadow passed over her brother's features.

“No longer of any concern to this world,” he answered, and the two men shared a moment of understanding before pulling one another into a tight embrace.

“Nemo said to return to the cathedral as soon as we found you,” David informed them. “He will offer us all sanctuary until things can be sorted out with the king. The entire city has been thrown into chaos.”

“Then we should go,” Killian agreed, and they all made their way to exit the room.

Before he could follow Emma out the door, Killian was halted by David’s hand at his shoulder. “When we get back to the cathedral, I think it's about time you and I had a talk about your intentions with my daughter.” The seriousness of his words were only slightly diminished by the smirk he fought at the corner of his mouth and the twinkle of mirth in his eye.

“Aye,” Killian replied with a wide smile. “I believe it is.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been such a pleasure to write, and I am so happy with how it came out. Thank you all for every kudo, comment, like, reblog, and review! We still have an Epilogue next week to look forward to, but I wanted to take a moment to just say - THANK YOU!!


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bring on the happy beginning!

**Epilogue**

Killian felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder. His brother Liam - a reality he was still coming to terms with - cast an uncomfortable, yet encouraging look his way and stated, “It’s time, brother.”

A flurry of nerves fluttered within his chest and down into his belly at his brother’s declaration. The suggestive whistles and good-natured heckling from his newly acquired gypsy brethren added to the wild thumping of his heart as he stood on suddenly shaky legs.

Apparently not moving quickly enough to satisfy Liam’s expectation, Killian felt a hand press against his back propelling him forward as his brother added, “It’s bad form to keep your bride waiting, little brother.”

“Younger,” Killian groused. The intentional ribbing served its purpose, causing some of Killian’s unease to melt away as Liam chuckled at the now expected response.

“Whatever you say,” Liam replied with a grin, “I was sent to fetch you and I’ll not have Snow box _my_ ears because of _your_ hesitations.”

“I’m not hesitating,” Killian countered, though he still had not taken more than a few steps from the wedding table he’d been seated at when Liam arrived.

Liam slung an arm around Killian’s shoulders and led the way to the cathedral. “It’s only natural to be nervous, Killian, but you and Emma love one another. Just focus on that and everything else will fall into place,” Liam said in a hushed voice. With an encouraging slap to Killian’s back, one that nearly knocked him over, Liam turned and headed back to the merriment still occurring within the square.

Killian looked up at the immense structure before him. Only hours earlier he and Emma had declared their love for one another publicly; they’d vowed before family, friends, and fellow gypsies to stay true in that love for one another, for the rest of their days. Nemo had declared them husband and wife, and the celebration of such a momentous occasion had spilled over into the square.  They had feasted and welcomed the well wishes of their guests, only parting when Emma’s mother had declared it time for the bride to prepare herself for their wedding night.

Snow had led Emma away toward their newly acquired caravan wagon, a wedding gift from the Mills clan that was currently stationed in the back courtyard of the cathedral.  Killian had watched Emma depart, filled with a sense of awe and disbelief that such a woman was well and truly his wife.

Well, not quite.

Emma wouldn’t _officially_ be his wife until after their wedding night.

Making his way through the cathedral toward the back courtyard, Killian’s heart raced and his hands trembled in anticipation of what awaited him; the anticipation of holding his Emma, of touching and experiencing his gypsy girl in the most intimate of ways. Intimacy that would forever bond them to one another with the consummation of their love.

He just hoped he didn’t disappoint her.

Both Robin and Liam had been quite _generous_ with sharing their knowledge on the subject. Though, in fairness, Liam had been a bit more reserved, caught between wanting to help Killian prepare for his wedding night, and knowing that it was the woman he’d always known as a sister Killian would be engaging in such actions with. Robin’s instruction had been a bit more… thorough. If not wholly overwhelming, and blush inducing.

Having almost reached the back of the narthex, Killian’s insecurities were interrupted by Nemo who was approaching him with a slightly sheepish expression upon his face.

“Forgive me, my son,” he apologized, “I know you are on your way to retire for the evening, but there is a matter I must discuss with you.”

Killian ducked his head bashfully at Nemo’s summation, and the meaningfully mischievous look he gave of Killian’s _retiring for the evening,_ but then met the man’s gaze at the serious tone he’d applied to the rest of his statement.

“What sort of matter?” Killian inquired.

“The matter of your inheritance, my son.”

Killian knew such a matter would have to be dealt with eventually. It was another reminder of the drastic changes he’d experienced to the very fabric of his reality over the past several weeks. Changes that had restored to him the truth of his identity, the love of a family, the camaraderie of people to whom he belonged, and had ushered in the miracle of a woman who had fallen in love with him when all of that truth was still buried beneath lies and a metal mask.

Lies that had begun to unravel with the exposure of his true face and had revealed a tapestry of deception and corruption perpetrated by his adoptive father for more than two decades.

All of Misthaven had been thrown into chaos at the news of Gold’s treachery. His death only compounded the rampant unrest within the citizenry and it took several turbulent days for the king’s guard to restore order within the city.

A number of audiences had been mandated by His Majesty, who had personally made his way to the province in response to Bishop Nemo’s accusations against Gold. One by one, Killian, the Nolans, Nemo, and members of the Mills clan had been called upon to give an account of Gold and Neal’s crimes and their deaths. It was during these tumultuous days of never ending testimony that several realizations and accountings had made themselves known.

The first coming from Nemo before the king had even arrived, when he reminded Killian that with Gold and Neal’s deaths he was now the sole heir of the late Governor’s entire estate and fortune. It would be up to the king, however, to determine whether or not he had a legitimate claim over it. Not that Killian wanted it. The man’s entire legacy could rot for all he cared, but Nemo had insisted that he submit a petition to claim rights over the inheritance regardless. So he had.

The second came from Liam, who had steadfastly refused to recount the tale of Gold’s death in the days prior to the king’s arrival, but could not deny its retelling to the Sovereign himself.

Liam had given chase to Gold who had managed to escape the square with a small contingent of guards. With the assistance of Robin and Will, they had managed to fight them off leaving Gold unprotected and seemingly defenseless. Liam called for the man’s surrender, but Gold had no intentions of going quietly. Surprising them all with the fact that he actually had no need for the cane he used publicly, Gold had managed to disarm Liam and had begun to administer a beating with the instrument of his ruse.

More guards had arrived before Robin or Will could intervene. While they fought to keep the soldiers at bay, Liam was able to make contact with a firm kick to the man’s stomach, propelling him backward. Gold stumbled over the downed body of one of his own guards and impaled himself on a providentially placed sword that had been jutting up from the ground, stuck between two cobblestones.

Though both deaths had been ruled accidental, and no fault had been laid at either Killian or Liam’s feet, the two had confessed to one another their difficulty in reconciling the events. Both had wanted to see Neal and Gold dead, had murderous intent to see to the grisly task themselves, and felt justified in their vengeance given all the atrocities they’d endured, but in the aftermath of the Gold men’s demise, the Jones brothers only felt hollow. Their parents were still gone, twenty years had been robbed from them, and Killian would forever carry the physical and emotional scars from his years of cruel torment and abuse.

It was Emma who’d been able to draw them out of their melancholy. Reminding them of the joy to be had in finding one another after all the time that had passed, and encouraging them to focus on the promise of their future instead, his gypsy girl had once again managed to bring him beauty from pain. And he loved her all the more for it. Not wishing to waste another moment, and with her father’s blessing, Killian asked Emma to become his wife. Her agreement came before the full proposal even had the chance to leave his lips, and they’d agreed to wed once the king had finished with his examination.

When the official inquiry of Gold and Neal’s deaths had been completed, the matter of Killian’s petition had been addressed, and the king had assured him that an answer would be forth coming as soon as the rest of the inquiry, that of Gold’s corruption, had been completed. That task was left to the king’s solicitors and investigators, as well as the newly appointed Governor, Lancelot. One of His Majesty’s loyal guards and trusted political advisors, Lancelot struck Killian as a firm but fair man who would be well suited to bring about the healing discipline Misthaven would require in the wake of its recent turmoil.

It seemed the new Governor was nothing if not efficient, if a ruling had already been made regarding Gold’s estate, no more than a few days after the king’s departure. A ruling that Nemo handed to Killian in the form of an official scroll sealed with the insignias of both Governor and King.

Killian opened the document and his eyes widened at the contents. In addition to the manor within the city, and the country estate, a greater estimation of wealth than Killian had ever suspected Gold was worth was listed in amounts of gold, silver, and jewels. It was more than Killian could ever spend in three or even four lifetimes.

“It changes nothing,” Killian determined. “I don’t want anything associated with Gold.”

“Killian,” Nemo began, “permit me to offer you a bit of counsel before you make firm your decision.” The Bishop awaited Killian’s agreement, which he gave in the form of a reluctant nod, before he continued. “There is no amount of gold, silver, or jewels that will ever repay what Gold took from you. From the moment you found yourself under his authority, his only intent was to rob you of the life you were born to live. Why not take this inheritance and defy him one final time by living that life to its fullest?” Killian considered Nemo’s words for a moment and looked again at the document in his hand. “You have a wife to consider now, Killian. And soon, perhaps the blessing of children. Do not be so hasty as to rebuff that which providence has chosen to gift you, if not for your own, then for their benefit.”

Killian swallowed the lump that had formed at Nemo’s mention of children, for he had just noticed the address at the top of the decree. The inheritance listed was not being issued to Killian Gold,  but to Killian Jones. His Majesty, with influence from Nemo, Killian suspected, had seen fit to restore his true name to him. A name he could now share with his brother Liam, his wife Emma, and the legacy that may follow afterward.

“Your Marriage Decree will be addressed in the same manner when you and Emma sign it tomorrow,” Nemo stated knowingly.

It was a rare occasion for Killian to ever find himself embracing his mentor and friend, but in that moment he couldn’t keep himself from drawing Nemo into a meaningful hug.

“Thank you,” Killian murmured. Overcome with emotion, Killian blinked away the tears that had begun to form and pulled back from Nemo. “I’ll think about what you said,” he promised. “You’re right. Emma and I should discuss the inheritance first. From this point forward everything about our life is as much up to her as it is to me.”

“And speaking of Emma,” Nemo commented with an amused smile. “I think I have delayed you from her presence long enough. Off you go, my son. We’ll finalize the other matter before you depart.”

Killian nodded stiffly, his earlier nerves resurfaced as he made his way through the back corridors to the courtyard beyond.

* * *

 

The lanterns had been turned low, filling their wagon with a soft glow of warmth. Emma stood from their bed upon his entrance, her delicate night dress doing little to conceal her form which caused a renewed stirring of both jitters and arousal to sweep through him.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting, my love,” he offered in no more than a whisper. His throat had become dry and tight at the sight before him. “Nemo required a moment from me on my way here.”

Emma padded towards him with silent footfalls. “What did Nemo require of you?”

Killian’s heart hammered painfully against his ribcage when she stood before him and he could appreciate just how sheer the fabric of her gown truly was. “What?” he murmured. The distracting nature of her closeness made him forget the explanation of his tardiness. “Oh, uh. Nothing we need concern ourselves with tonight. It’ll keep until morning.”

“Alright.” She smiled shyly, and they simply stood there staring at one another for what could have been hours, though really only minutes must have passed.

“You should... you should prepare yourself for bed,” she stuttered softly, drawing her lip between her teeth and then asking, “Shall I give you a moment’s privacy, or-”

“Stay,” he responded quickly. Though her presence only heightened his anxious state, he was bereft at the idea of her withdrawing from him.

She nodded and he began to remove the wedding doublet, his coat long since abandoned during the wedding celebration in the square. After removing his tunic and draping it over the same chair his doublet now rested upon, Killian stiffened as he felt Emma’s touch upon his back, his marked and scarred back. He turned quickly and caught her wrist in his hand.

“Don’t,” he pleaded.

Killian knew she had seen the evidence years of cruelty had wrought upon his back when he’d been convalescing after the punishment he’d taken on her behalf, but he did not wish her to endure the sight of it now. He wanted their night to be filled with promises of their future, not dark reminders of his past.

Emma offered him a knowing look of loving understanding, but ignored his plea. After he released her wrist she moved to stand behind him and he tensed again at the brush of her lips over his mottled skin.

“I love every part of you, Killian,” Emma murmured against the back of his shoulder, sending a shudder through him. “Even if it takes the rest of our lives, I’m going to remove the memory of pain associated with your scars,” she continued as she traced a feather light path along the marks that littered his back. “When you consider them, I don’t want you to think of a lash. I only want you to think of my touch.”

Emma continued to travel along the lines of his back with her fingertips, a moan fell from his lips when he felt her soft kiss press against his scarred shoulder blades once more. Her lips trailed across the top of his back, a mixture of sensual and tender applications with her warm breath and tongue. Slowly she made her way back to face him, and he noticed the tremor of her hands as she reached up to untie the delicate ribbon that held the front of her night dress closed.

“Are you nervous?” he asked softly, his own anxieties causing his voice to hitch.

Emma averted her gaze as she nodded, but then glanced up at him as she asked, “Are you?”

“Petrified,” he confessed with a light laugh, and his admission pulled a more relaxed smile from her lips.

Killian swallowed heavily as he watched Emma undo the ribbon and slip her night dress from her shoulders, allowing it to fall away from her body and pool at her feet.

He had seen great works of art depicted in many books over the years. Studies of the nude female form sketched, inked, and painted upon the pages of any number of tomes. He had appreciated the roundness of their curves, and the lines of their figure in those depictions with a certainty that he’d never have the fortune of viewing such beauty first hand, much less touch something that, to him, held an element of the divine.

None of those depictions, nor any conjurings of his own imagination could ever compare to the woman standing bare before him now. His Emma. His bride. A study of feminine perfection, not just in body, but spirit as well. And she belonged to him, just as he belonged to her. He scarcely knew how to respond to such a miracle.

Emma reached down and took his hands into her own. He could still see the tentative shyness reflected in her gaze, but it was coupled with a cinder of the longing he recognized within himself. A longing that made her bold as she said, “Put your hands on me, Killian.” A boldness that had him reacting immediately to her request.

Guided by her touch, Killian gently placed his hands upon her breasts, their heft and shape fitting perfectly within his palm. Emma’s eyes closed and her lips parted at the sensation of his touch, a sudden shuddering intake of breath swelled within her chest in response to the caress of his thumbs over her nipples.

Killian stepped closer and leaned in to kiss her, bringing one of his hands around to the back of her head as the other continued to knead, and caress, and tease her breast, drawing moans from his bride that settled in his groin.

“You’re so beautiful, Emma,” Killian murmured against her neck, nuzzling a line from her jaw to her ear with the tip of his nose.

“So are you, Killian,” she replied, and he chose to accept the truth of her words over the lies his mind still refused to relinquish.

He trailed his fingers down her breasts towards her abdomen, but then pulled them away when they reached her waist. Emma’s eyes opened and she gave him a look of concern over the loss of his touch, but then widened when she noticed the purpose of their withdrawal.

As he had done with her moments ago, Emma stood in awe as she watched him divest himself of his remaining garments. A flicker of fear flashed in her eyes when her attentions settled below his waist and a tremble seemed to shake her entire body. Killian took her hands in his; it was his turn to be bold for the both of them.

“Put your hands on me, Emma,” he echoed back her words to her and guided her hands to his chest as she had his.

Sparks of pleasure erupted beneath his skin at her touch sending a pulsating need through him right down to his toes and aching at his member. She gasped when it twitched between them and Killian pulled her closer when it appeared she might be tempted to step away, taking her lips with a greater urgency than he’d ever felt before.

He groaned into her mouth from the slide of her hardened nipples through the coarse hair along his chest. Another shiver coursed over her body as he ran his hands down her back and over the smoothness of her backside, and she moaned at the press of his hardened length against her belly.

Feelings of trepidations momentarily discarded, they moved in aligned eagerness towards the bed. Killian’s breath caught in the back of his throat at the sight of Emma stretched out upon the soft blankets, and though a throbbing urgency screamed within his blood to settle himself within the cradle of her thighs, Killian could not ignore the command his bride had issued earlier. He wanted to put his hands on her. All of her. And not just his hands.

He bent over her prone form and answered the beckoning call of her nipples, taking each in turn into his mouth. His bride’s responses becoming more intoxicating as she moaned and squirmed with each flicker of his tongue and pull of his teeth. Slowly he inched his hand down her belly, encouraging her to open her thighs to him.

The scent of her arousal assaulted his senses, as did the warmth of pooling desire he found coating the soft curls of her womanhood. Emma’s hips jerked and she gave a soft cry when he tentatively glided a finger through the slick folds of her sex. All at once Killian’s uncertainty returned. He knew that intimacies were meant to be pleasurable for both of them, but he had no idea how to offer such enjoyments without the possibility of harming her.

“I want to please you, Emma, but I don’t-” Killian began, his hand still placed between her thighs, while his nervous gaze focused on her expression.

“Shhh,” she soothed, running a hand through his hair after she’d opened her eyes, her head tilting up to meet his gaze. “You do please me. We’ll learn with time and experience how to please one another.” Her face flushed a deeper pink than the tint of desire had already painted her cheeks with **.** “Tonight, I just want you to make me your wife. I want you to be my husband. In every way.”

Her love filled gaze and heartfelt words washed over him, staying the nervous jitter of his heart and leaving only the thrum of desire within his pulse.

Eyes still fixed upon her face, Killian began a gentle exploration with his fingers once more. Emma’s head fell back among the pillows of their bed and her expressions, sounds, and responses became the learning tools of his intimate scholarship in the study of her satisfactions.

A fresh flush encompassed her skin as her pants became heavier. Soft moans deepened into groanings and she clutched at the pillows next to her head as he increased the pace and pressure of his thumb against the sensitive bundle of flesh that had elicited the greatest responses during his ministrations. Her hips thrust against his hand in repeated rhythm; an action he mimicked against the mattress in order to help alleviate the desperate need focused at his member. A similar need to the one he knew was building within Emma, begging to be satisfied. A satisfaction that nearly overtook him as he watched it overtake her.

Back arching off the bed, Emma’s cries gave him a moment’s panic that he might have hurt her before he realized the true cause of such an intense demonstration. A sheen of spent ecstacy glistened off her skin as tremors of pleasure shook her slight frame.

“Are you alright, my love?” Killian asked tenderly as he stretched himself alongside her, leaving a bit of space between them, unsure whether or not she’d find the contact of his body too overwhelming in her heightened state.

“You could say that,” she answered on a giggle. A contradictory sound to the appearance of tears slipping out from under her lid.

“Are you certain?” he asked again, unconvinced. “You’re crying.”

She turned her head and met his concern filled gaze. Offering him a small smile as she reached out and pulled him to her.

“If your experience should be anything like mine,” she said as she encouraged him to lay atop her. “You’ll understand.”

She widened her legs for him so he could settle his hips against hers, and the demanding ache stirring in his groin became prominent once more. He felt her thighs tremble against him and wondered if it was due to the same nerves he could feel vibrating beneath his skin.

Swallowing thickly, his heart slamming in his chest, he lined himself up at her soft entrance and looked once more into the assurance of her eyes. With a timid, but encouraging nod from his bride, Killian began to press into the molten bliss of her core. Though she did her best to welcome him in, her body gave slight protest to the intrusion.

“Relax, love,” Killian grunted. The sublime sensation and desire to join them together slowly, mixed with his natural instinct to simply bury himself into the tight heat engulfing the tip of his member warred within him as he attempted to maintain some sort of control.

Fraction by glorious fraction he withdrew and returned, pausing momentarily when he reached the barrier that would transform Emma from his bride to his wife upon its removal. Recalling the counsel that had been given to him, Killian bent down to press a kiss upon Emma’s lips as he surged forward, swallowing her cry of brief pain. Though his body screamed at him to continue its movement, Killian waited.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” he murmured against her lips. “You know I’d never wish to cause you pain.”

“I know,” she replied. “It’s okay. I’m alright. It’s just…”

“I know.” He pressed his lips against hers seeking absolution in her kiss; a forgiveness she readily granted him as she met his impassioned fervor and they began to move together in bonded rhythm.

A rhythm that hurtled him towards release, despite his attempts to draw out the pleasurable interval of the union.

“Let go, Killian,” Emma urged softly, her hand sweeping through his hair and down the lines of his face. “It’s alright, my love. Fall for me.”

Fall he did. Calling out her name, Killian gave himself over to euphoria as his release spilled itself within her. With barely any strength left in his arms, Killian lowered himself to rest within the embrace of her arms as they wrapped themselves around him. Their hearts beat in a singular rhythm further attesting that the two of them had become as one in the consummation of their union. Killian knew in that moment nothing could ever separate his gypsy girl from him, or he from her. They were well and truly bonded for life; a life Killian had never dared to dream possible until he met Emma. His love. His wife. His gypsy girl, forevermore.  

* * *

The crisp, fall air enlivened Emma’s senses as she assisted her mother in securing the final few supplies to the exterior of her parents’ wagon. The rumble of a familiar laugh rang within her ears and enveloped her with every bit of warmth and security she would have experienced within the arms of the man from whom it originated.

Emma poked her head around the end of the wagon to see her husband standing with Robin as the two readied the horses that would be tasked with pulling their own wagon. Though she had never been deterred, or paid much mind to the mask he once wore, and would have been content to love him all the same if she’d never viewed the visage beneath, Emma couldn’t help but be thankful for the face before her now.

She was thankful for the dimple that sank into his cheek when he had cause enough to grin, the brows that seemed to conspire with his smirk when he teased, and the delicate lines that highlighted his eyes when he offered her soft smiles. These were the features that offered the greatest testimony to the happiness he had finally found after so many years of pain and sadness.

It would still take time, many years perhaps, before the haunted look behind his forget-me-not eyes would no longer be the standard, but exception, of his normal countenance. A result that Emma would strive for each and every day until the remaining vestiges of Gold’s atrocities had been thoroughly purged from the man she loved. Purged until there was nothing left of the vile man’s remnant upon their lives. Nothing, that is, except the vast inheritance he’d inadvertently left behind to the very man he’d no intention of bestowing any amount of favor upon.

The subject of Killian’s inheritance had arisen early the morning after their wedding. Due to sign the marriage decree once proof of consummation had been confirmed, Killian had shared with her the gift that Nemo had ensured from the king.

The gift of his true and now legal name. Jones.

She had resigned herself to being Emma Gold legally, though they had both agreed to take on the name Jones unofficially, but with the king’s kindness they were each free to sign the decree as Jones, and the rightness of the name had settled over Emma in a way that she didn’t think Nolan ever had. As if she were always meant to bear the name and pass on its legacy one day. A day she hoped wouldn’t be too long in coming.

In addition to Killian’s restored name, his inheritance also included a list of fortunes that had made Emma’s head swim. With such wealth at their disposal, the opportunities afforded to them for their future were boundless. They’d spent many hours discussing each and every one of those possibilities and in the end had achieved a unified decision; one that met the desires of each of their hearts and allowed for those they loved to share in the blessings.

Blessings they were now ready to bestow before they set off on the first adventure of their happy beginning together.

“Ready, love?” Killian asked, pulling Emma from her musings and offering her his hand in invitation.

“Ready,” she confirmed, taking his proffered hand and letting him lead her to the group that had assembled to see them off.

Her mother, father, and brother were all saying their goodbyes to members of the Mills clan, so she and Killian took the opportunity to approach Nemo.

“I do not think I can adequately articulate both my joy and sadness in seeing you depart, my son,” Nemo expressed as he drew them both into a tight embrace. “You’ll always have a home here. Never forget that.”

“Thank you, and speaking of homes,” Killian said as he pulled out a piece of parchment, and pressed it into Nemo’s palm.

“What is this?” Nemo questioned, unfolding the document with furrowed brows.

“It’s the deed to Gold manor,” Killian answered. “I’m giving it to you… well, the church technically, but it’s yours. Along with a third of the fiscal inheritance I have received.”

“Killian!” Nemo exclaimed in shock. “I cannot accept that. It’s too much!”

“It isn’t nearly enough to repay you for the kindness and love you’ve bestowed upon me all these years,” Killian countered. “Emma and I wish to travel with her parents for a few years yet, and we may decide to return to Misthaven and settle ourselves one day. But it won’t be in that manor.” Killian squeezed Emma’s hand and she gave him an encouraging nod before he turned his attentions back to Nemo. “You are free to sell it, convert it, do what you wish with it. Work alongside Lancelot and use the funds I’m gifting you to help bring healing back to the people of the province. As you said, let’s defy Gold one last time by using the resources he obtained from the suffering of others in order to help and bless the people.”

Nemo’s speechlessness afforded Emma the opportunity to present her own piece of parchment to Robin, who was the highest ranking member of the Mills clan present.

“Oh!” he responded cherrily, with only a hint of cheek, “Do I get an estate and small fortune as well?”

“Actually,” Emma teased with a tilt of her head and lifted brows, making Robin’s eyes go wide as he tore open the document.

“We want the clan to have the country estate,” Emma explained. “Not just the house, but the entire property as well.”

“Why?” Robin asked dumbfounded.

“Lancelot is a fair and honest man,” Killian began, “which means you lot are likely to need a sanctuary outside of his jurisdiction at some point.” He offered Robin a pointed look with a smirk and raised brow that hinted at his own measure of cheek.

Robin laughed at the ribbing that all but accused his clan of the crookedness they were absolutely guilty of, and clapped Killian on the shoulder good-naturedly.

“I fear you may be right in that assessment,” Robin admitted merrily before turning a serious eye at both of them. “Thank you. This means more to us than you know. And as Nemo said, you’ll always have a place there should you choose to return.”

“Thank you,” they each replied as they gave Robin and the other clan members final embraces, handshakes, and words of farewell.

“We need to get going,” David reminded them. “If we don’t get to the kingdom’s border by the first snowfall we’ll never make it to Arendelle before the road becomes impassable.”

With a final goodbye, Killian led Emma back to their wagon and assisted her onto the driver’s bench before climbing up beside her and taking the horses’ reins within his hands. Emma threaded her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder. Feeling a soft press of his lips to her head, she looked up at her husband so he could apply those lips to her own.

“That’s enough of that you two,” Liam admonished from his own driver’s seat. “We’ve delayed our departure long enough so the two of you could get _well_ acquainted with your affections. Leave it for the _interior_ of your wagon, if you please.”

A chorus of chuckles echoed throughout the square making the newlyweds blush.

They urged the horses onward, waving to their well-wishers as they passed, and Killian leaned over to murmur into Emma’s ear. “I think it’s high time for Liam to find a wife of his own.”

“Good thing we’re on our way to Arendelle then,” Emma replied with an air of conspiratorial amusement.

“Oh? Do tell, love,” Killian encouraged with a wide, mischievous grin.

“Let’s just say that a certain icy blonde member of the local gypsy clan up north makes Liam as nervous and bashful as you were the day you crashed into my tent.”

Killian laughed wildly, earning him a bewildered look from his brother who had drawn his wagon up next to their own.

“Oh, this I’ve got to see,” Killian chuckled, throwing a wink at his brother who continued to stare suspiciously at the giggling pair beside him.

“You will,” Emma assured as she pressed further into his side. “You’re going to see many wonderful and amazing things, Killian. That I promise you.”

“Aye, love. And they’ll be all the more wondrous and amazing with you at my side.”

“Always.”

_**THE END** _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we have it folks. Their happy beginning is on its way, and they definitely earned it! Thank you all for following along. I’ve cherished every kudo, like, comment, reblog, and review.
> 
> I currently have another MC posting weekly - Dark Hook Come to Storybrooke - a season 1 canon divergence that I am co-writing with @winterbaby89. If you haven’t already, I hope you’ll check it out. I’m also participating in the CS Secret Santa, the Once Upon a Festive Gifting exchange, and January Joy, so new stuff from me will be coming your way in another couple weeks. If you need something to tide you over until then, please check out some of my past works. 
> 
> Thank you all again for all the love you’ve shown me and this fic, and one final shout out to the most amazing beta @ilovemesomekillianjones. *muah!*


	9. The Monster Beneath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In honor of the one year anniversary of What Lies Beneath the Mask, and as a HUGE thank you to @cocohook38 for gifting me with so many wonderful art pieces for the story, I wrote a little something to add to the verse. When I originally set out writing Mask, I had a completely different idea in mind for the ending. This gives you a peek into what could have happened if things had unfolded differently in the telling of the story.

 

* * *

 

Killian frantically shouted for Emma as he and Nemo made their way through Gold Manor. Panic churned in his gut and clenched around his heart like a vice as he tried to push away the vile images of what Neal might be doing to her that kept threatening to invade his mind. At last, they reached Neal’s chambers and Killian burst through the door. Relief washed over him at the sight of Emma standing before him, but it was soon replaced with rage as he took in her disheveled and haggard appearance.

Nemo’s arm grabbed onto his, keeping him from rushing at the vile man making his way off the bed. “Take Emma away from here,” the Bishop commanded. “I shall stay with your adoptive brother until the king’s guards arrive.”

Killian stood conflicted, wanting to see to Emma’s safety and comfort while also wishing to give Neal a sound thrashing.

“Killian?” Emma’s voice cut through, sealing his decision as she wrapped her hand around his in order to lead him back out of the room.

Before they could cross the threshold, a terrible sound had them both spinning back around. Killian’s heart stopped at the sight of Neal’s sword impaled in Nemo’s gut. Nemo’s stunned expression was set on the sickening grin spread across Killian’s sadistic, adoptive brother’s face.

“NO!” Killian shouted. He rushed to his mentor’s side, arriving in time to catch him as he fell from the withdrawing blade still clutched in Neal’s hand. “Nemo! No, no, no,” Killian sobbed, falling to his knees under the weight of the man who’d been a father to him.

Blood gurgled in Nemo’s throat. Unable to form words, he reached up and stroked Killian’s face. Killian’s eyes fell shut at the sensation. None but Emma had touched his face since the mask had been removed, but this caress was no less loving, no less tender. Tears welled up in his eyes and slid past his lids when he opened his eyes once more.

“Please,” Killian begged. “Please don’t leave me.”

Nemo stared up at him, a soft, apologetic smile pulling at his lips. His hand fell away from Killian’s face, and despair consumed him as he watched the life leave Nemo’s eyes.

Utterly lost, Killian looked towards the only person that could hope to ground him. Emma stared with wide and teary eyes, her hand covering her mouth in anguished disbelief. She met his gaze with mourning and pain shining in her green depths, and grief ripped through Killian’s chest. A deep, taunting chuckle pulled his attention from his love, and grief gave way to cold murderous wrath. Neal stood with his sword held loosely at his side, a smug expression beset upon his features as he sneered down at Killian and the slain Nemo still clutched in his embrace.

“I never did care for that man,” Neal quipped offhandedly, and something within Killian snapped.

A growl reverberated in Killian’s chest as he moved Nemo off of his lap, and with a cry of rage he launched himself at Neal. The sword clattered to the ground as Killian caught him around the middle, propelling both of them to the floor. They wrestled with one another, exchanging blows until Killian managed to subdue Neal with his forearm pressed against his throat. A glint of metal caught his eye, and when he turned his head to get a proper look a fresh swell of rage surged within him.

“All my life I’ve endured unspeakable horrors at the hands of you and your father,” Killian seethed. “Prepare yourself, _brother_ , for a taste of your own cruelty as I pay you back for each beating, blow by blow.” Killian snatched his old mask from the floor next to them and raised it with menace. “You always told me there was a monster beneath the mask.” Killian brought the mask down across Neal’s face, and blood spattered the floor. “Well, now he’s been unleashed!” Killian roared, administering strike after strike to Neal’s face as a lifetime of pain and trauma unburdened itself in each blow.

“Killian!” he heard Emma shout, her hands grasping at his shoulders. “Killian, stop! He’s dead, Killian! He’s dead!”

Killian continued to feel shaking against his shoulders, with Emma’s urgent cries of his name as he came to and shot up in the bed of their wagon. Labored breaths staccatoed against his racing pulse. He shivered, his body covered in a sheen of sweat. Emma’s hand rested against his bare chest, her other smoothing his bangs off of his forehead as he collected himself.

“Another nightmare?” she inquired softly.

“Y-Yes,” he stuttered. Tears pooled in his eyes, the memory of his dream assaulting him in vivid detail.

“Tell me.” Emma pulled him back down and into her embrace, her hands skimming along the dips and curves of his back and unconsciously tracing the lines of his scars as she attempted to soothe him.

Killian choked out the elements of his nightmare, sobs catching in his throat while tears spilled down his cheeks. Emma quietly listened, allowing him to reveal every frightful detail without ever removing her comforting touch from him. After he’d exhausted the tale and his tears, she brought her hand under his chin and lifted his gaze to hers.

“Nemo is safe, my love,” she reminded him reassuringly. “And Neal’s death was not your fault. You are _not_ the monster they tried so hard to make you believe you were.” Killian ducked his head back down, shame coursing through him from the long buried desires he’d kept hidden from his love. “And even if you had beat Neal to death with that mask, it still wouldn’t have made you a monster. Not in my eyes.”

His eyes snapped up in surprise at her words, and his breath caught at the fierce truth he saw shining there. She swept a hand through his hair then down his face, cupping his cheek in her palm. “There was _never_ a monster beneath that mask, Killian. The true monsters are dead. Whether you wished for their demise or not, whether or not you planned to kill them yourself, when it came down to the moment… you didn’t. You were not the cause.”

Killian swallowed past a fresh swell of emotion and pulled Emma closer to him, nuzzling his face in her hair. He knew she was right. One day he might come to fully accept her words and the nightmares would end. Until then, he would trust in her belief in him and the love they held for one another.

“Do you think you can fall back asleep?”

“Aye,” Killian murmured. Though he did feel somewhat more at peace, he knew there was one way he was sure to find that bliss of slumber once again. “Will you sing to me?”

“Always, my love. Always.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Mad props to my amazing beta @ilovemesomekillianjones (to whom I owe copious amounts of chocolate for betaing outside of her fic comfort zone) and to my cheerleaders and enablers @kmomof4 and @winterbaby89 - I love you all so, so much! Also, a big thanks to @juliakaze on Tumblr who created a stunning piece of art for this story!


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